To Life Again
by Silverthreads
Summary: No time travel nor potions accident, but Severus Snape returns as a child. Harry Potter, a professor at Hogwarts with children of his own, is the only one who understands.
1. Default Chapter

This came to me almost complete this morning. There is more. A lot more and it wants to write itself. So it looks like I'll be juggling two stories now! Nonetheless, the first has priority, though I know this one won't let go. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply: JKR's not mine. No one buys mine. (yet) LOL! 

** To Life Again **

Prologue: A Second Chance 

* * *

With one final thrust of raw power Harry Potter finished the Last Great Battle (as it would come to be called). As for the young man himself he had no thoughts of the present much less of the future. All he could think of was how quiet the world suddenly was. So quiet. So... dead. With not even a glance at the seered crater where his enemy had so recently stood, he turned and stagggered down the knoll. He'd not had any intention of stopping (not that he'd had any intention of anything at all for that matter) until a weak moan captivated him. Then he did halt in mid-step. His mind opened up and he looked at the devestation all about. The moan came again and this he tracked. To a mound of struggling burnt black rags. The pile of burnt cloth twisted and roiled and then overturned and revealed a blood soaked face beneath long scraggly black hair. _"Professor!_ Harry gasped and rushed to the now still form. He knelt beside the man but didn't reach out to touch him. 

"Potter," the deep whisper cracked uncharacteristically. Dark eyes opened but remained unfocused. "Savior of--" raqgged coughing interrupted but the man forced himself to continue, "...wizarding world." 

"Please sir--" 

"No. I... I must congratulate..." 

"Professor, please." 

"Good bye, Potter." 

"Professor, there are healers, I'll call one--" 

"No. Waste of... time. For someone... Listen!" One ruined hand lifted from the folds of the blasted cloth. "Listen," The whisper again dissolved into choking coughs. Without thinking about it, Harry clasped the older man's hand in both of his own. 

"Sir--" 

"Don't think on it... overmuch... Potter. Harry..." 

Panickstricken all of a sudden, Harry lifted his head and cried out, "Headmaster! Headmaster! Dumbledore!" 

He'd heard nothing but suddenly the Headmaster was standing nearby. "Harry." 

"He's dying. I didn't mean. I didn't--" 

"No one expected you to take on Tom by yourself child. Yes. Another of my children is dying too soon. Severus, child. You never had a chance. I am sorry." 

"Doesn't matter, Albus... Albus?" 

"Child." 

"Cold." 

"I know." 

"Tell him... I never mattered." 

"I can't." 

A terrible sob wrenched from Harry's throat. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if he'd ever felt any affection for the man. 

"Not his fault." 

"True. Harry, he's right you know. This also is not your fault." With that the Headmaster reached down and took the Potions Master's other hand and that's when Harry realized what was so very wrong. Albus Dumbledore wasn't corporeal any more. 

"Sir!" 

"I know Harry," the image smiled wistfully. "I'm afraid I've gone and died as well." 

"You're a ghost then?" 

"No, Harry." Dumbledore sat down on the ground and lifted the dying wizard's head to cradle him in his lap. "I have lived long and my soul has lived many lives." He smiled down at Severus Snape as that wizard exhaled his last breath. "You, Harry, have a soul that has also lived many lives, though not as many as mine own." 

"Not James--?" 

"Of course not, child." 

"But I look like him." 

"And you look like your mother. Most children do, you know. But no, a soul cannot be born into a body when it is already alive in another." The old wizard shook his head in frustrated amusement at the convoluted wording. "No, his is another soul." 

"What about Ron and Hermoine?" 

"Oh, Hermoine's is a very old soul! My yes. Ron is much younger, of course. But Severus' is younger still. This was his first life, Harry." At that the old soul leaned down and brushed a kiss on the dead man's forehead. A glow that followed the length of the body slowly emerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis. But the glow was only vaguely human. Rather it fluttered like a dark tattered cloth held only because Dumbledore embraced it. "This was his first life and it went so wrong." 

Harry frowned, slightly overwhelmed at all this information and the bizarre transformation going on in front of him. "So... Reincarnation, then." 

"For some of us." Dumbledore smiled softly. "Albus Dumbledore was my last incarnation, Harry." 

"Erm... doesn't that mean... you are supposed to go to Nirvana or something?" 

"Yes. I have. I am a Guide for other souls. This is my Nirvana." The tattered soul of Severus Snape still mostly formless began to shrink. As it did it slowly took on a human form again. A youth, a child, an infant at last in Albus' arms; and then it was no longer tattered. Albus looked down at the innocent, unfettered soul with complete and unconditional love. 

"Sir? What about Lord Voldemort?" 

Dumbledore's face clouded over for the briefest moment. "His soul no longer exists." 

For his own part, Harry was relieved. He took a deep breath and looked at the infant soul twitching strangely in Dumbldore's arms. "He doesn't look very comfortable. Will he be reborn now?" 

Oddly, Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. Rather his head went up as if searching for something in the area. Then he shook his head. "There is no place for him yet." He smiled encouragingly. "But you still have this whole life ahead of you, dear boy. Make it a good one for everything is so wide open for you now." The ancient soul leaned forward and placed a cool pressureless kiss on Harry's cheek. "There's agood boy," he said and Harry wasn't sure to whom that was directed and he couldn't ask for now he was alone, with only Severus Snape's empty husk of a body for company. 


	2. The Sorting Hat Reprised

Reviews already! Thank you! I hope you won't be disappointed. I'm juggling two stories now! The first has priority, though I know this one won't let go. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

** To Life Again **

The Sorting Hat Reprised 

* * *

Harry Potter sat at the Head Table bemused at what his life had come to. He never would have foreseen it! Beside him sat his wonderful red headed wife as sweet as ever and still (apparently) madly in love with him. Equally astounding to the young man was the fact that this year the last of his four children was starting Hogwarts. What a ride! He grinned and felt foolish but happy that he could do so. It hadn't started out that way. It had taken him two years of hard work to get out of the depression that had settled immediately after that final battle. And then Ginny had agreed to marry him (much to Molly's very vocal exuberance) and they spent another year working out problems and having the twins. Around that time too, Harry had decided to get more involved with Muggle psychiatry and trained to become a psychiatric social practitioner specializing in dealing with children. Ginny was so patient with him and with having to live almost like Muggles (he was sure she cheated). Arthur, on the other hand was elated and spent a great deal of time visiting them. 

Next came some training with the mediwizards at St Mungos, studying the psychological effects of various potions and finally working with the mediwizards to help treat some of the youngest victims of the war. Apparently he'd created a new field and everyone was eager to help children. Headmistress McGonagall, following his progress in astute silence, created (and convinced the Ministry to sanction) the position of School Counselor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a post for which she immediately invited Harry to fill. He was happy and he was helping! 

As he did every year as the first years entered the Hall with Assistant Headmistress Professor Sprout, Harry squeezed the hand of his wife sitting next to him. And, as once more this year's crop contained another Potter, they both grinned "like idiots" according to the twins Fred (Frederika) and George (Georegina). And thus they watched the littlest students enter the hall, faces filled mainly with awe and curiosity. All sound hushed as the Sorting Hat was introduced. While it sang, Harry searched the young faces for his own youngest. 

And suddenly his heart nearly thudded to a stop. His eyes came to rest on a dark head bent down so that black hair cascaded forward to hide the features. He saw a small child, certainly not one he would have thought to be eleven already. This child was the size of an eight year old, his once black robe more of a faded grey except for a darker spot where an old house patch had been removed. This was not an eager child. He saw the child flinch when one of the others jostled him as her name was called and she went to run to the stool in answer to the summons. He sighed, knowing that this was going to be work. 

"Harry?" Ginny's voice whispered concernedly in his ear. 

"Nothing, love. Just thinking." And then he saw little James and he waggled his fingers as discreetly as possible, grinning once more. 

"Octavius Lastrange" Professor Sprout called out. A tiny boy emerged slowly from the remianing clutch of children and he scuffed his way to the stool and climbed, rather ungracefully, onto it. The Hat settled down around his narrow shoulders. Silence filled the Hall. And filled it and filled it. Someone's tummy rumbled and several giggles answered. Still nothing. Professor Sprout was about to turn back to McGonagall when she noticed two fat tears come sliding out from beneath the hat and splat upon the pale shaking fists in the small lap. 

"Slytherin!" The Hat yelled and the small body suddenly relaxed and the herbologist heard a great relieved sigh. She gratefully removed the Hat and the child all but jumped down from the stool and, still shuflling in shoes clearly too big for him, headed toward the Slytherin table accompanied by belated, if stunned, applause. She returned to her list and called out the next name and so paid no more attention to the departing boy. But at the Head Table a pair of bespectacled green eyes did watch as the child found an empty seat and still kept his head down and his manner reserved. 

More names were called and Harry clapped loudly when his youngest was sorted (into Gryffindor which rather surprised him actually). And finally after a few more names and sortings, the Headmistress gave her speech (not a great deal different from Dumbledore's as regards brevity, thank goodness) and soon there was only the sounds of eating and laughter and connversation. 

Harry smiled and said all the right things, but more than once he caught Ginny frowning concernedly at him as she caught his gaze straying repeatedly to the small, pale, dark haired child at the end of the Slytherin table. 

Later, as they prepared for bed, Ginny accosted him again. "I know what's bothering you Harry," she sighed with long suffereing patience. "It's that Lastrange child, isn't it. Can you handle his being here?" She shuddered at the thought that Bellatrix could ever have borne children. 

"Whoever his parents are, he is his own person, Ginny." 

"So why did you keep staring at him?" 

"I don't know." He slid under the covers close beside her but lay on his back, arms crossed behind his head. 

Ginny propped herself up on one elbow to look down over her husband. "Mmm, no. I am not buying that. You've got some thought in there," she tapped delicately on his forehead with one finger, "and it's bothering you." 

Harry sighed. "He has Severus Snape's eyes." 

Much to his great surprise Ginny laughed. 

"Ginny." 

"What a strange idea, Harry Potter! Snape died years before this child was even born." 

"Yes, I can do maths, thank you." 

"And we were up at the Head table and the boy kept his head down so I really don't know when you think you saw his eyes. Oh Harry! Don't read anything into this boy!" 

Harry shrugged as best he could laying down as he was, "I think he's an abused child, Ginny." 

"Well then, you'll find out -- and get to see his eyes -- when he comes for his first years' first week interview." 

Harry rolled onto his side and pulled Ginny down so that they were almost nose to nose. "Mmm. I think I'll have Minerva put him near the top. I want to see him as soon as possible." He dropped the subject and forced a grin. "It's still early..." he leered. 

Ginny giggled and tickled his ribs. Things deteriorated quickly after that.   
  
--   
  
Harry looked down at the small boy sitting in the large but comfortably plush, chair on the other side of his desk. The boy kept his head down and his hands folded neatly on his lap. His short legs did not swing even a little. He was stiff, he was rigid and he was clearly hating every minute of this. Harry looked back at the parchment in front of him. "So then, Mr. Lastrange, I know it's only the first day, but how do you like Hogwarts so far?" 

"It's fine sir." Harry was not encouraged by the flat tone. 

"What did you think of the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall? That really stunned me my first time here." 

"I... erm... I don't, I didn't really... erm..." 

Harry smiled. "It's all right if you didn't really pay too much attention to it. I don't think you looked up once all evening." 

The boy blushed. 

"It can be a bit overwhelming, so much going on, so many people, first time away from home and your parents." 

"Yes sir. I suppose." 

"Miss your parents, do you?" 

"No sir. My mother is dead. She died having me, sir." 

"And your father?" 

The boy shrugged. 

Harry sat back and studied the dark head. Black hair, long, neatly combed falling from a natural part in the center of the boy's head. Falling forward to hide his face. "So why are you unhappy, Mr Lastrange?" 

"Sir?" 

"Well, most children come here excited and smiling. You, however, seem determined to sit there sunk in gloom." 

The boy still refused to look up. He just shrugged again. This was going nowhere fast. 

"All right then, let's set some ground rules, shall we? Do you know why you are here?" 

"Of course sir. My Hogwarts letter came." 

"Yes, and?" 

"Father said I was the last chance. All the others had proved dismal failures--" 

"What? All the others?" 

"Yes, I'm the eighth child born. If I don't survive he isn't going to try again. He says it's not worth finding a suitable wife and he'll be damned if he's going to sire a bastard heir." All this without a single spark of emotion. 

Harry nearly choked. "I... see." He finally managed. "Well so you aren't here by choice then. Is there somewhere else you'd rather be?" 

"No sir." Exactly the answer he was expecting and almost dreading. 

"Do you know why _I'm_ here?" 

"No sir." 

"One of my jobs is to make sure that all first years settle in well. Another is to listen to students who have no one else to turn to, especially when they want to talk about things they'd rather not mention to anyone else. If you tell me a secret I won't reveal it. Unless someone's life is in danger, but then I won't tell who told me." He paused and looked at the bent head. "Do you understand, Octavius?" The head bobbed up and down unconvincingly. "I know you don't trust me yet, but that's fine. I'm here when you need me. Do you understand?" The head nodded again but he didn't believe the boy understood at all. "Well, now I am to take you to visit Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse. It seems your health records are woefully incomplete." 

"I'm not sick, sir." 

"Of course you aren't but there've been some changes since your father was in school. Now every child must have a physical exam before beginning and you don't seem to have had one. Ever." He could sense without even looking that the boy was blushing. "It won't hurt and it's rules that cannot be broken." He stood and went around the desk and lightly touched the boy's shoulder. "Come." 

The boy flinched then slid out of the chair, careful not to stand too close to the man. Neither said a word the whole way to the hospital wing. They passed no one but Sir Nick who gave them a polite salute as he floated by in the opposite direction. The only sounds were the rhythmic tapping of Harry's shoes and the scuffing of the boy's too large shoes. 

Madame Pomfrey tried not to appear as if ahe'd been waiting for them. She'd not changed much since Harry had been a student (after all wizarding folk aged somewhat diffferently than Muggles) but she was still concerned when it came to hurt children. And Harry had told her his fears over morning tea. She eyed the boy cooly, knowing that it would not do to appear over concerned. "Good Morning Mr Potter, Mr Lastrange." 

"Good Morning Madame Pomfrey. Mr Lastrange is here for his physical examination." 

"Quite right. You will stay of course. Now Mr Lastrange remove your robes please." 

"I'd rather not, if you please." 

"Young man, I cannot make a visual assessement through your clothing." 

The boy now looked extremely anxious, almost as if he might run. "Poppy, why don't we save that til last," Harry suggested softly. The nurse made a disapproving sound (Harry winked at the boy). 

"Very well." She moved around the boy muttering quiet incantations and making small sounds of displeasure. Finally she pointed to a chart on the wall. "Can you read the line, Mr Lastrange?" 

"Yes, Madame." 

Harry smirked at the mediwitch's waiting glare. "I think she means for you to do so, Octavius. Aloud please." 

The boy recited the line. The words shifted and shrank. At her nod he receited the new set. This kept on until the boy was squinting. "That's enough." She gestured and a parchment already partly filled with tables and lines appeared beside her, a quill poised to write. "Now then, childhood diseases." She broke off. "Dear me, he might not even know, many children don't after all. Have you never seen a mediwitch before, child?" 

"No, Father says they are a waste of time and galleons." 

Pomfrey murmured something impolite but not loud enough for either Harry or the boy to hear clearly. "Well. Now there's no putting it off." 

"Why don't we start small?" Harry suggested quickly. "Shoes and socks first." 

The boy looked nearly ready to cry, but he sat down on the edge of a bed indicated by the mediwitch and pulled off his shoes. He wasn't wearing socks. Both adults tried not to look grim. The small feet were red and blistered. No wonder the child shuffled, it must have hurt greatly to take any steps at all. "Harry, enough. I want to see the rest." She turned her stern gaze to the boy, softening it to show it wasn't him with whom she was angry. "Off. All of it. Now. I know you are in pain and I won't let you stay that way." 

The boy nodded and slowly worked the fastenings of his robe. It fell off to reveal equally old and poorly fitting trausers and shirt. Poppy was far to imaptient to let him continue fumbling with buttons and tatty buttonholes so she brushed his hands away and soon had him sitting shivering, and completely embarrassed, in his underwear. As both adults expected the small body was covered with bruises and, sadly, scars. "I'm sorry to have to ask you to go through this child. But adults are not supposed to hurt children." 

"I was bad." 

"No child is that bad that this kind of punishment is deserved." The witch sighed and gave Potter a guarded look. "I think you need to stay here and rest, Mr Lastrange. This has clearly been very traumatic for you. I have some pyjamas you can use." They watched the boy change reluctantly and clamber into the bed. They gave him tea with a weak sleeping draught and very soon he was relaxed and asleep. 

"I hate to do this to him," Harry said watching the nurse make a more thorough examination of the deeply sleeping child. "I feel like I've lied to him. 

"Better this lie than complete humiliation, Mr Potter, wouldn't you agree?" She finished and gave him an angry look. "If you suspected sexual abuse Mr Potter, you would have been correct. I shall, of course, write up a full report. That family should have been stopped three generations ago!" 

Harry sighed. "I'll talk to Minerva." 


	3. Overnight

Reviews already! Thank you! I hope you won't be disappointed. I'm juggling two stories now! The first has priority, though I know this one won't let go. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

** To Life Again **

Overnight 

* * *

Octavius recognized the room though he'd never actually been in it. He also recognized the small choked sobs coming from underneath the table and he crawled under to find and comfort the child not quite hidden there. He carefully patted the younger boy's head without any reticence. The child broke off his wretched crying and looked up. His eyes, large, black, and strangely luminous sparkled in the ethereal dimness. He had a long nose, a bit too big for his tiny five year old face, which face was, besides, rather too angular. His hair was long and straight and peculiarly blue-black. As black as midnight. "Don't be afraid," the boy said in a voice that had no tears in it any more, only a familiar comfort. 

The boy was alone in the huge expanse (to him) of room. He lay on his side, curled into an unconsciously comforting position. It wasn't completely dark. But that was not what had awakened him. He'd had a dream about The Little Boy. Not _a_ little boy. _The._ It was no one he'd ever met before. He was sure of that as he'd not met very many people in the first place and none of them were children. 

_The_ Little Boy had hair even darker and blacker than his own. _The_ Little Boy was even skinnier than he was. But they both had dark eyes and scars. And they both were afraid of their fathers however much they wanted to please them. Octavius rolled to his other side, sliding back to the warm spot borne of his own body heat -- the rest of the bed was cold. It didn't matter that the dream child wasn't scary; he woke up every time. He didn't know why. He closed his eyes and waited patiently for sleep.   
  
--   
  
"Well then, what was he like? Why wasn't he in class today?" Ginny asked after they had discussed the classes she had taught this first day. Including her second class which was first year Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Ginny was brushing her hair, already in nightgown and ready for bed. But her husband was still fully clothed and missing every hint that he should be substantially less clothed. 

"He's not going to tell us anything." Harry grimaced and ran a hand through his hair in that endearing (to Ginny anyway) manner that indicated more than mild frustration. "He was in no shape to leave Poppy's care." 

"But he doesn't look like Professor Snape." She put down her brush and went over to stand behind him and run her arms about his waist. 

"He shouldn't, should he? But I see something... Maybe it is the eyes, they're just as dark as Snape's were, I think." He frowned. "Or maybe I just think the kid is following a similar path. I don't know." Harry's arms snaked around hers almost absently. 

"But it's bothering you." 

"Yes, it is." 

"What are you going to do?" 

"Well, I wrote up a report for Minerva. I expect she'll want to interview the poor kid. I'll be there of course. But he's not going to tell her anything." He was repeating himself. He turned around to make the embrace face to face and leaned in to give his wife a long soul losing kiss. She purred and started unbuttoning his shirt. 

"Had Siri in class today. He needed reminding about his behavior. I wanted to deduct house points but couldn't bring myself to do it." She giggled. 

"Can't play favorites Ginny. Not with our own children. That's not sending the right message at all." He nibbled at her velvety soft earlobe. 

"Mmmm... I probably wouldn't have taken away points even if he'd been another child. That tickles!" 

"Let's go tickle something else, shall we?" he murmured in her ear and quickly pulled off the rest of his clothing...   
  
--   
  
It had been many years since Harry had suffered nightmares as terrible as the one that sent a scream from his lungs terrifying both himself and Ginny into abrupt wakefulness. In fact Ginny was wide eyed and shaking even more than he himself was. He murmured faint apologies and they wrapped their arms around one another and sat shaking together. 

At last Ginny lifted her head from his shoulder angling to look into his amazing green eyes. "What did you dream of, Harry?" 

"Voldemort." He replied in a husky voice. "The last battle. Snape dying. Snape." 

"It's all right." 

"No. I'm not sure..." 

"Voldemort is dead!" 

"Yes. Oh yes. He is definitely that. And his soul--" He broke off, frowning. "I'm missing something, Ginny. I'm missing something and I don't know what!" 

"Oh Harry..." 

"It's all right," he stroked her sleep mussed red hair soothingly. "I'm all right. Let's just try to go back to sleep." 

Ginny nodded and together they lay back down and settled close, twining themselves together for the shared strength of togetherness. Soon one and then the other drifted back to sleep, and their soft snores sang of peace at last.   
  
--   
  
Minerva McGonagall was slumped in the very comfortable chair at her desk in her office beneath the mostly sleeping portraits of previous headmasters, staring at but not actually reading a long and highly detailed report drawn up jointly by Harry and Poppy. She winced at some of the all too graphic descriptions. she'd read the damnable thing, what? Eleven times at least! Doing so again wouldn't change any of it. 

"Albus, some things just do not change." She said to the one portrait that was wide awake. 

"I wish I could help, Minerva. At least offer you a lemon sherbet." He sighed. "But I don't even know what your problem is." He was sitting at his own desk eyeing a sleeping Fawkes with amusement. The bird appeared to be somewhat off kilter. But it didn't tip or fall. Perhaps it was a comment by the artist who'd painted it. 

"Apparently Rodolphos Lestrange is not cut out to be anyone's parent," she told him dryly. 

"That should not come as any surprise. What does surprise me is that he is not in Azkaban!" 

"He should be, given the contents of this report!" She sighed wearily and rose. "I'm going to bed. I shall have to interview the boy tomorrow and then I shall see what can be done." 

"Good night then, my dear. Sleep well." He still hadn't heard what the problem was. But he was only a painting however lively he might seem. And the Headmistress had not left the parchment in the open.   
  



	4. The First Interview

Reviews already! Thank you! I hope you won't be disappointed. I'm juggling two stories now! The first has priority, though I know this one won't let go. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

** To Life Again **

The First Interview 

* * *

--   
  
Octavius sat up in the bed, not eating the food on the tray floating over his lap. He didn't want to eat. He wanted to hide. All of this attention surely meant trouble. Like The Boy in his dreams he knew it was best to hide; to be unobserved and even better, unobservable. But how? The nurse had said the headmistress was coming and Mr Potter too. This was terrible. This was awful. His father would be very displeased. He groaned. 

A bit too loudly as suddenly the matron was standing over him with a worried look. "I'm sorry," he whispered contritely. 

"Whatever for child?" 

"I did not mean to bother you." 

"You didn't. It is my job to be alert to your needs." She fluffed the downy pillows behind his back. "I see you have touched almost nothing of your breakfast. You needn't be nervous, Headmistress McGonagall won't bite, you know." 

"I suppose," he conceded noncommittally. "Anyway, I don't have this much for breakfast generally." 

"I see." 

He blushed deeply, realizing that perhaps that had not been the best thing to admit and gamely picked at a bowl of sliced fruit. A noise at the other side of the room drew both his and Madame Pomfrey's attention. It was Mr Potter coming in, carrying a small trunk. "Good morning Octavius! How are you this morning?" 

"I'm well sir," returned automatically. 

"Glad to hear it. I thought you might like to know what's going to happen this morning," he paused, obviously waiting for some sign from Octavius who nodded behind a small flush of embarrassed trepidation. "I can't promise you'll be comfortable, Octavius, but I can promise that none of us mean you any harm," the man told him honestly. "I will be here and Madame Pomfrey also. As will your Head of House and the Headmistress." 

"I-I don't understand. What have I done wrong?" 

"Why nothing, dearheart!" The mediwitch exclaimed. 

"We are concerned for your health, Octavius." 

Octavius frowned. Was this what his father had warned him about? "I am not sick." He insisted carefully. 

"Well, perhaps not sick, child, but you are bruised," Pomfrey stopped with that. 

"I fell." 

The two adults clearly did not believe him. He clamped his lips tightly shut and lowered his head. This was going to mean trouble for sure and he was flummoxed if he could see any way out of it. 

They didn't give him much time to think, Professor Vector and Headmistress McGonagall chose that precise moment to arrive. Both looked glum. Octavius lowered his head and folded his hands on his lap. 

"Good morning Mr Lestrange," the Headmistress greeted with her normal stentorian tone. 

"Good morning Headmistress," Octavius mumbled automatically. 

"Now then. To the point. Who has been hitting you, child?" She felt it best to approach things head on, especially with Slytherins. It tended to catch them off guard. 

"I fall a lot." 

"I see. Mr Lestrange, I don't suppose you understand how wrong it is to lie, do you?" 

"Depends if you're caught Headmistress," he responded in all seriousness. with his head bent, though, he missed the amused smirk from the Counselor. 

"Young man, I can remove House points for your cheek," the stern witch warned severely. "I don't think your housemates or your Head of House would be at all pleased with that., would they?" 

"Most likely not, Ma'am." he stole a glance at Professor Vector whose schooled expression gave nothing away. 

"Then I suggest you cease lying at once." 

The boy folded his arms over his chest in an alarmingly familiar way that caused Harry to nearly choke. "Then I shall say nothing. If you do not wish to believe me, there is no point in it." 

"Minerva," Harry interrupted. "Leave it." 

"I will not. No one should be permitted to abuse a child in this way! No one!" 

"I certainly don't disagree. But you are not going to get what you want and this will not make Octavius any friendlier to us. Will it Octavius?" 

The boy sulked, glancing up to give a single confirming nod. 

"We have Poppy's report. It will have to do." 

Now the boy was frightened. What were they planning?! Panic showed on his face. 

"Minerva, look at him." 

The Headmistress did. And was clearly taken aback. "Well, Mr Lestrange, what would you have me do, then?" 

"Nothing, Professor. Please, nothing is wrong." 

The Headmistress shot an angry look at the school Counselor. "We will discuss this in my office when you have a moment, Mr Potter." She turned smartly and strode out. 

Potter exchanged a look with Vector who, less purposefully, followed McGonagall's trail out. Harry came and sat on the boy's bed. "We can help, you know. But we'll take it slowly. We truly don't want to see you hurt." 

"I'm not hurt. Not much. It's my fault anyway." 

"Why is that, Octavius?" 

"I can't seem to do anything right, sir." 

"Well, can you give me an example?" 

The boy shook his head. "It's family business." 

"How about we trade secrets then? I'll tell you one of mine, you tell me one of yours. that's fair don't you think?" 

"What kind of secrets?" 

"Any kind you like." 

The boy frowned in consternation. "I don't think I'd ought." 

"All right then. How about you get dressed and I'll take you to class." 

"Yes sir, thank you." 

"Erm... I brought you some socks. They'll help keep your shoes from blistering your feet." He lay the thick footwear on the bed. They'd been his this morning, but he'd transfigured them to a more appropriate size. 

Octavius pulled them on and a tiny smile rewarded Harry. 

"I've, erm, transfigured your shoes so they'd fit better too." 

That didn't go over so well. The expression reverted to dismay. 

"Don't worry, I'll set them back to rights before you have to go home," the man whispered conspiratorially. Then he got up and went to talk with Poppy, leaving the boy to dress in privacy. 


	5. First Day

Reviews already! Thank you! I hope you won't be disappointed. I'm juggling two stories now! The first has priority, though I know this one won't let go. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

** To Life Again **

First Day 

* * *

Octavius blended into the crowd that was converging on the Transfiguration classroom. They were as new as he was and so were relatively unaware that he'd missed their first class. He hoped they'd think he simply didn't have that class. Or Something he wasn't sure what. Anyway the door was open and he filed in along with everyone else, finding a seat as far in the back as possible. 

"Good morning, children. I am Professor Weasley-Potter and this is Transfigurations. So if that's not what you were expecting, I fear you are in the wrong classroom." She smiled warmly and everyone (almost everyone) relaxed, Octavius wasn't ready to relax, he had no idea what to expect. She held a roll of parchment in her hands and started calling off names. Each time she did, another student would call out to signify that they were the person being addressed. At his own name he simply gave the same salutation as the girl before him had done, a simple 'Here, Ma'am,' which thankfully seemed to be enough. The ginger-red haired woman smiled at them and moved to the other side of her desk, pulling her wand from her robes as she did. He cringed automatically, unaware that he was the only one to do so. Equally unaware that more than one of his classmates had noticed and were filing the information away for future use. 

It was a long class. At least it seemed so. Mostly the tall professor lectured at them about the history and theory of what they would be learning and not until the last few minutes did she allow them to even touch their wands! Not that Octavius minded that too much. After all, it always seemed that the wand his father had given him did not even like him! But how could a measly piece of dead wood lined with something from some magical creature have any brains at all much less have any sort of feelings about anything. But still. It seemed like it hated him. 

Or perhaps, as his father ofttimes suggested, he simply wasn't capable enough to have such a thing. Perhaps he was only a step away from being a Squib. He had only a few short years to prove himself adequate (to his father's standards anyway) lest he meet the same fate as all his earlier siblings. Being accepted to Hogwarts was, it seemed insufficient proof. At least he'd lived long enough to get that far. 

Young Octavius' thoughts had settled on the musings of what had actually happened to the seven who had preceded him and so had stopped listening to the lilting voice of the professor. Until it was nearly shouting in his ear. "Octavius! Your wand, boy! Where is it?" 

"Erm..." He started. The teacher was towering over him, annoyance in her face and posture. "What?" 

The class as a whole snickered. "Your wand, Mr Lestrange. Get it out we are going to practice some motions. Are you unwell?" suddenly her expression changed to one of concern. "Perhaps you need to return to the Hospital Wing?" 

He shook his head and riffled through his robes to extrude the requested object. "I have it Ma'am, I'm sorry." 

Now she was regarding him with a terrible look of uncertainty. "It's not uncommon for some students to be a bit disoriented their first day," her tone was quite a bit more gentle. "If you're sure." 

"Yes ma'am." Sure about what? Not needing to return to Madame Pomfrey's care? Having his hated wand? Being sorry he'd been inattentive? Did it even matter? 

"Very well then." She returned to her place at the front of the classroom, dark blue robes swirling about her ankles like pooled water in a very mesmerizing sort of way. 

Octavius shook his head and held his wand exactly the way his father had told him. It was very much similar to the way the professor and most of the students were holding theirs. They all made and repeated the necessary motions several times. He'd had little practice in this form. It really wasn't something his father cared much about, though. Still, he could turn simple things into other equally simple things -- when his wand felt like co-operating. The professor was passing out some tiny sticks of wood, one to a student, she told them. They were to turn them into needles. Wood to metal. How hard was that? 

Apparently hard enough. Most of the students were not having any luck. Octavius' wand decided not to cooperate and so he was having as much trouble as most of the rest of the students. Finally he growled at it and the tiny toothpick (for that is what it was even though the boy had never heard of such a thing) suddenly burst into flame. 

The girl next to him screamed. Octavius jumped at the shriek in his ear and spun toward her in response, holding the wand much like some sort of defensive weapon. There was shouting and then a gentle tug brought his vision back and he saw a worried professor standing in front of him, one hand wrapped around his wrist while the other gently tugged at the wand. Her lips were moving. he blinked and the universe steadied. 

"Octavius? Child, let go. It's all right..." Her voice filtered to his brain at last. He let go of the accursed stick. 

"It hates me," he mumbled softly, dropping his head to hide the tears that threatened to burst from his eyes. 

"You just need more practice, dear," she murmured soothingly, giving him a small hug. She turned back to the class, all now muttering and curious and unsure. "I think we've had enough for one day, though." Your assignment is to read the first two chapters from your text and write an essay, one foot, please, on the importance of viewing in your mind what you want the object you are transfiguring to become. Dismissed." 

Octavius, being thoroughly undone by her impromptu embrace took a big step away from her and held out his hand. "May I have it back, please?" He asked when she showed no sign of returning the wand. 

She looked from him to the thing in her hand and frowned. It felt wrong. "You said it hates you. Do you really think so? I should not have thought Mr Ollivander would give someone a wand that did not agree with them." 

"Who? My father gave me the wand." 

"Ah, it's second hand then?" 

Octavius shrugged not understanding the term but not wanting to appear any more stupid than he already did. 

The professor sighed then handed the thing back to him. "Often second hand wands do not suit. In truth it's best if one has a wand that fits, but it's often not practical." 

"Yes ma'am." He tucked the wand away. 

"Best get to lunch then, Mr Lestrange." 

"Thank you Ma'am." He hurried off. 

Lunch turned out to be a terrifying ordeal of closely packed bodies and too much noise. It was all the youngster could do to keep himself from running off to hide. He was so desperate to get away that as soon as he saw an older student walking towards the giant doors, he leapt from his seat and hurried along the same path. He'd not eaten a bite, had not even managed to get any food on his plate and he was hungry. 

He looked at the schedule of classes that had somehow made it to his hand. _Care of Magical Creatures_ was written there. _Hagrid's Cottage._ Where was that? Obviously not in the castle. Just as obviously somewhere on the grounds. He walked outside and looked around. A slightly overcast sky kept the sun from being over bright and that made it easier to look around. The grounds were quite lovely, even an eleven year old boy of little experience could sense that. He finally caught sight of a path and saw a delicate trail of smoke rising up from behind a knoll. He moved off in that direction. 

Shortly he did find himself at the front of an a large outbuilding. It's chimney was spewing a delicate plume indicating that the place was in use. Moreover, there was a garden with lots of well tended (he supposed) plants. His stomach gurgled mercilessly loudly and the huge front door opened. 

Something big and dark and hairy loomed there. Octavius gave a small shriek and backed away, pulling his wand out with a shaking hand. But then he remembered the half giant from the boat ride and he stood still, looking up and trying not to be afraid. 

"Well there! Yer a mite early fer class there, lad!" The deep voice rumbled cheerfully. "Come on in, sounds like ye didn't have lunch." 

"Erm... It was too noisy, sir. I-I thought I'd go to class." He hadn't moved. 

"Right yeh are. Come on in. Little feller like yerself needs his meals, lad." He stepped back to make room for the child, waving his huge hand in a welcoming gesture. 

Octavius returned his wand to its hiding place and cautiously stepped inside. A rather large and drooling creature picked its head up and gave him the once over. He stared at the massive creature. "That's Fang. As sweet as an infant, 'e is. Getting on a bit so he don' move from the hearth much. Yeh can go over and gi' him a pat if yeh like." 

"N-no thank you sir. I... I don't think I am very good with animals." 

"No? Well, we'll have t'see about tha'. Reckon yeh'll have t' work a bit in my class then, aye?" 

"I expect so, sir." 

The half giant made a sort of thoughtful sound. Then changed his focus to a steaming kettle. "Well, set yerself down and have some tea, then. I've a bit o' stew left from the night b'fore last. Still good. Got th' recipe from a Hungarian lady. Paprikash I think it's called. Ever try any?" 

"No sir." The boy climbed up onto one of the overlarge chairs and sat on his knees so he could reach the table more comfortably. 

A mug of tea and a bowl of some savory scented dish was set before him. He leaned close and sniffed deeply. The stew smelled wonderful. Hagrid set a fork down and the boy quickly tucked into the delicious meal. 

It didn't take him long to finish and Hagrid was rewarded by seeing the somber boy smile appreciatively as he came to the bottom of the bowl. The little belch was yet another indication that the boy had gobbled up the meal with great gusto. Hagrid laughed and gently laid his hand on the small shoulder. "Ah, now tha' tells me yeh like m' cookin'!" he grinned, especially to make the blushing child feel unfettered by the expectations of posh table manners. After they finished the tea and they strolled outside together to await the arrival of the rest of the class.   
  
--   
  
Harry let the moving stairs carry him up the Headmistress' office, a roll of parchment under one arm and an accordion folder full of Muggle psychiatric studies under the other. He rapped shortly on her door which opened immediately. 

"Good afternoon, Harry." 

"Minerva. Did you notice Octavius leave the hall without eating?" 

"Nae I did not. I'm afraid my attention was in too many places. Tis why your position was created. Too many children were... lost in earlier times. I wish no more tragedies such as was even possible in your time as a student." 

"No more children lost to the Dark Arts because there is no one to help them survive their unknown pain," it came out as a wistful murmur. 

"Aye. But this child will hold it in and without his word we are limited in what we can do." 

"Unfortunately even with his word it would be difficult." 

"His father is Rodolphus Lestrange!" More than mere displeasure, there was pure loathing in the older witches' voice. "The man should nae have been released from Azkaban--" 

"And yet he was. Odd isn't it? The family is gone except for the old man and Octavius. There is still a fortune but you'd never know it from the impoverished attire the boy showed up here with. Not just attire. Nothing he brought is new as far as I can tell. Was Rodolphus always such a stingy bugger?" 

Minerva shook her head. "As a student he was always keen on his appearance. But what are we going to do about the boy? It's clear he's been tortured." 

"Minerva, I'm afraid for him. If we bring any of this out into the open he's the one who will suffer. Lestrange clearly has connections. And even if he didn't, the boy is emotionally vulnerable. Any teasing and he will fold up." 

"Then what? What can we do?" 

Harry grinned his most evil, conniving smile. "We find ways and reasons to keep him here." 

"Over Summer holiday as well? I'd like to see how you manage that!" 

"So would I, but we have to try." 

The Headmistress nodded in full accord.   
  
--  
  
Care of Magical Creatures turned out to be scary and exciting and the hippogriff to which they were formally introduced was the high point of the lesson. Not that Octavius didn't think Hagrid was awfully amazing as well. As he trudged back to the castle for his last class (Divination) his mind fell into fancies of flight and freedom. He paid no heed to the other first years racing towards the castle about him. But then, they paid no heed to him either. he might as well have been invisible. 

But he preferred that so he never even noticed. 

He was one of the last to find his way into the Divinations classroom and there were only a few empty spots left. He found one not too far from the door and settled into place. 

The murmuring shush of the children's voices dulled to silence as the spindly, bangle bedecked witch made her entrance. Scarves and crystals, silver and gold draped her lean form and sparkled with her every motion. The effect, however, was completely ruined by the thick spectacles she wore, and the wavering sing song voice that issued from her throat in her greeting. Someone snickered and she spun toward the sound which, naturally, broke off suddenly. The teacher placed an annoyed frown on her face and slowly meandered about the classroom, speaking not another word until she stood before her flickering hearth. She let her gaze wander over her students just a little longer. 

"Most of you will learn theory only, for the Sight is given not acquired. Still, everyone has some insight even if just enough to know when to keep silent." Her moving gaze settled on a ginger haired boy who blushed with sudden ferocity causing his nearest neighbors to titter against their own wills. 

"I am Professor Trelawney, for those of you who do not know. We shall begin today with the recitation of a dream which we shall all attempt to interpret. I would remind you, however, that not all dreams are anything more than the subconscious mind's attempt to clear away the cobwebs of the mundane. You will learn to differentiate these from true Dreams." 

Her gaze roamed the room once more before settling once again on the ginger haired boy. "Sirius John Potter, we shall start with you." 

The boy groaned in answer but as the witch did not seem inclined to make a new choice, he could only clear his throat and begin. "Erm... well... I dreamed of... erm... Quidditch." 

Professor Trelawney made a disdainful face. "Not very surprising," she grumbled softly. 

"Erm... I was playing Seeker, like my Dad and I caught the snitch. And then we had some cake and Arthur fell in the Lake--" he was embellishing, even Trelawney could sense that. 

"Enough Mr Potter. You could have just said that you don't remember any dream." 

"Would you have believed me?" His eyes gleamed with unhidden mischief 

"Probably not," the witch admitted with a sigh. "I did teach your father and mother and your unless after all..." 

Octavius raised his hand shyly. 

"Yes Mr Lestrange?" She looked at the boy and tried to hide the shiver of fear that his name caused within her. 

"I had a dream last night." 

The witch looked surprised. Most students were not so eager to share their dreams on the first day. "Well then, tell it to us, won't you?" 

"It's about a little boy. Not me, littler. He cries a lot." 

"And?" 

Octavius shrugged. "I think his father doesn't like him." 

"I see. Well... I don't think that is a dream that can be interpreted my dear. You see what we actually interpret are the symbols that appear in the dream." 

"Professor, maybe the boy in his dream _is_ a symbol." A tall redheaded girl looked at the boy for some sort of confirmation. But he'd already lowered his head to hide the blush of his shame, wondering the whole while whatever had possessed him to bring it up at all! 

"It could be. But it is one far too complex to be discussed in this class." 

"Maybe it was him but when he was younger and he doesn't remember." someone else offered. "I know most of us were little kids once." 

"I think perhaps another dream would suit us much better... Yes, Miss Thompson, let's have one from you." 

Octavius stopped listening as he thought about the little boy in his dream. It wasn't him. His hair had never been that dark or that straight, and they certainly never had a table that looked anything like the one the boy was huddled beneath. And besides, he'd been in the dream with the boy. 

A brother? One of the seven children who'd gone before him? He shuddered. He knew none had survived past the age of nine. But he'd also no idea what any of them looked like. The image of the dark child rose in his minds eye and he studied it, completely unaware of the class moving on around him. The boy was very small. His eyes as black as India ink within a pale face and his long nose was quite his most prominent feature next to the darkness of his eyes. Octavius' nose, though broken more than once, was rather more delicate and because his high cheekbones were wide, his nose fit his own face much more than this boy's fit his. 

The boy turned away from him and began to move away. Not walking, just becoming farther away. After a while he turned back and Octavius saw a much older boy. Maybe a boy who was already a fifth year or older. He thought to move closer, but couldn't. Then the boy turned and moved off again. Then turned back and Octavius barely made out the tall slender figure of a man. The man lurched suddenly, nearly collapsing as if in sudden pain. Octavius couldn't move. He wanted to. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to move forward or run away! 

Before he could do anything, however, he felt himself being roughly shaken. He heard a terrified voice ordering someone to fetch Madame Pomfrey and another voice asking about a fit. He considered, for a moment, opening his eyes. But there wasn't time before he passed out. 


	6. First Steps

Reviews already! Thank you! I hope you won't be disappointed. I'm juggling two stories now! The first has priority, though I know this one won't let go. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

** To Life Again **

Small Steps 

* * *

Octavius' first conscious thought was that he was warm and hidden. Thus feeling safe, he did not wake with his usual abrupt panic but rather ambled slowly toward wakefulness with uncommon reluctance. 

"Well, there you are, dear," an unfamiliar voice startled him though it was not unkind sounding. His eyes snapped open then and he immediately recognized Madame Pomfrey of the hospital wing. Which, he then realized, was exactly where he was. The mediwitch smiled at him but her hand on his chest held him down. "If you will insist on sitting up, child, do be sure to move slowly or you will find yourself feeling quite ill," she warned, and then moved her hand away. 

Octavius nodded and, not being a fool, sat up very slowly. "Why am I here?" he asked. He didn't remember anything after walking into the Divinations classroom. 

"It seems you fainted in Divinations class, my dear. How are you feeling now?" 

"I am well, thank you." 

"I truly doubt that, my dear. Never mind. You missed dinner in the Great Hall. I shall have something brought to you now that you are awake." She summoned a house-elf and gave orders for a light meal to be brought. As soon as the elf disappeared again, her attention again bore into the child. "Now, my tests show that you did not faint from hunger, so what did happen will have to be investigated." 

"I do apologise--" 

"No, no, child. Fainting is not something one apologizes for. It happens for many reasons and it can be a symptom of some underlying illness. As you have apparently never been seen by any Healers, we shall have to undertake our own investigation. It won't hurt, I assure you." 

"I am not afraid of pain, Madame Pomfrey. But I ... I am afraid of being expelled." 

"Oh my dear child! One is not expelled for fainting!" At that moment the elf returned with a tray of food which he handed over to the mediwitch. She placed it hovering above the boy's lap. "Now, you eat what you want. Don't stuff yourself, mind. If you need anything just call out." She moved off to her office to let the boy eat in peace. And to floo the Headmistress in privacy. 

It was not that worthy lady who came to visit the boy, however, but rather she let Harry come on his own. They both knew the child related better to him. There was something odd about the boy, something that bothered the Headmistress and gave her an unease that she was distressed to admit she could not explain. At first she dismissed this as some figment of imagination. But it wasn't and she did not want the boy hurt any worse than he already was. 

Harry arrived sometime after the boy had finished eating and he found him resting with hands folded under his head, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. "Good evening Octavius," he greeted softly as the boy had not noticed him enter and he didn't want to startle him. 

Octavius' eyes focused quickly on the man and he sat up. "Good evening sir. Might I return to my House now?" 

Harry smiled. "After we have a small talk. It's almost curfew." 

Octavius nodded, suddenly wary. 

Harry saw that shift in attitude and sighed inwardly. This was going to be so hard. "Now, Octavius, have you any thoughts on why you fainted in Divinations class? Professor Trelawney is not that horrible, you know." 

Octavius blushed. "It wasn't her, at least I don't think so, I mean... I... I don't know, sir." 

"What can you recall about the class, then, Octavius?" 

"Nothing much, just arriving and finding a place to sit." 

"You don't remember how class started? What Professor Trelawney introduced?" 

"Erm... Dreams, wasn't it sir?" He was frowning as that much recollection seemed so vague that he wasn't sure that perhaps he was simply making it up. 

"Yes, dreams. She asked if anyone wanted share their dreams for interpretation." Harry hesitated seeing, seeing that the boy truly did not remember the events of the class. But then he took a chance and further prodded, "You said that you dreamed of a little boy..." He watched the child's expression change. 

"He's not me, really sir." 

"I know Octavius. But why don't you tell me about him anyway." 

"What do you want to know about him, sir?" 

Harry smiled. True he wanted to reassure the small eleven year old but as well he felt that the boy's willingness to talk was a real advancement in their relationship. "Why don't we start with what happens to him in your dreams." 

"He cries a lot sir. He's only a little kid, usually." 

"Why does he cry?" 

"I think his parents are fighting." 

Parents? Plural? But Octavius couldn't have known his mother; she'd died in childbirth. 

The boy interpreted his expression without any mistake. "I told you he isn't me. It's not my parents fighting it's his," he said in a miffed tone. 

"Yes. Quite... Erm..." 

"I sit with him when he's crying very hard. I think he gets hit quite a bit too." 

"Do you get hit, Octavius?" 

"No! I fall! I'm very clumsy..." the head fell forward and Harry knew this for the lie it was and waited without saying another word. As he expected, the boy spoke again. But what he said was not expected. "I saw him older in class." 

"What?" 

"The boy. I saw him older and then I saw him grown. But I wasn't dreaming then, I wasn't asleep." There was another long pause. "I was scared." 

"He can't hurt you--" 

"Well he wouldn't, would he? After all, I'm his only friend." 

Harry frowned. "I'd like to talk about you, Octavius. Can we do that?" 

"I'd rather not." 

"Why not?" 

"I don't think I should." 

"You won't get in any trouble." 

"You don't know that," the boy could barely manage a rough whisper and he had started to shiver. 

"I won't force you, Octavius. It's fine. We don't have to talk about you. But I promise you would not get into trouble here." 

"Maybe not." But no more was forthcoming and the boy refused to look up, his head bowed so dark hair hid his expression, his small body huddled in on itself. 

"How about I tell you something about me, then?" 

The boy responded with a barely perceptible nod. 

"Well, let me see... When I was a baby I had to go live with my Aunt and Uncle. They really didn't want me and as soon as they could they kept me in a cupboard." He paused when the child flinched. "Have you ever been locked in a cupboard or closet, Octavius?" 

"Wardrobe," returned a small stilted voice. 

"Just as bad, I think. I didn't like it at all. I would cry and cry and all they would do is yell at me and sometimes, if my Uncle was very mad, he hit me." 

"When you were a baby?" 

"As far back as I remember, Octavius." 

"You hadn't done anything wrong?" 

"No child can do anything so wrong that he should be locked in a small space and ignored or beaten." 

"Maybe not a little child. Like the little boy in my dreams or you..." 

"Well, I never did those things to any of my children. And sometimes they have been right naughty brats!" He tried to gain a smile from the somber child. But there was not even the slightest amusement in that face. 

"The little boy's father doesn't like him." Octavius admitted. Then he took a deep breath. "Mine doesn't like me either. And I guess you don't like your children either." 

"Oh no Octavius! I adore my children! I love them deeply. But even I know that they can be mischievous sometimes. I love them even so." He saw the doubt on the child's face. "You can ask them if you want," Harry suggested. 

"Maybe I will." But he didn't sound as if he actually considered the idea seriously. 

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his perpetually mussed hair. "Do you want to stay here overnight or go back to your dorm?" 

"I've not slept there yet. I really should before they throw my things in the dustbin, sir." 

Harry stifled a laugh. "No, they are not allowed to do that. All right then, I'll walk you back. It's past curfew now." He stood up and then looked into the boy's face, catching and locking his gaze with his own deep green eyes. "You can come talk to me any time, Octavius. Any time at all, all right?" 

Octavius gave him a small nod. He understood, he wasn't ready to trust just yet, but he understood the offer. 


	7. Stepping Forth

Reviews already! Thank you! I hope you won't be disappointed. I'm juggling two stories now! The first has priority, though I know this one won't let go. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

** To Life Again **

Stepping Forth 

* * *

Octavius woke early, just as he did every day both at home and here at school. It had been two weeks and he had yet to hear anything from his father. For which he was profoundly grateful. Perhaps the old wizard had forgotten he existed. He wished it were so but doubted it. Most likely it was simply that he'd nothing to say to his last attempt at continuing the Lestrange line. Which was equally fine with the boy. It did not mean the old wizard was not keeping an eye on him, so it did not mean the child could neglect his duties. Thus the child rose extra early and after a quick wash and dressing went outside to practice the charms his father insisted he master. 

As it was a Tuesday, it meant he was supposed to practice the cutting charms that severed insects' legs from their bodies. He held his wand in one hand and eyed the beetle in his other hand. It was squirming. Of course it wanted to escape and be on its way. He could hardly blame it for that. "I'm sorry, bug," he muttered as he always did (though if his father was near he'd merely think it). He took a breath and whispered the charm. 

Two legs came right off, falling uselessly to the ground. He winced though the bug didn't seem fazed at all. it continued to squirm with its remaining legs. But Octavius thought it must have hurt. It certainly hurt him! 

"You! You rotten little boy!" someone screeched, startling him so that he dropped the creature (which took the opportunity to make a hasty and unexpectedly efficient retreat). 

Octavius spun towards the yell just as someone grabbed his arm and twisted it backwards until he dropped his wand. As much as it hurt, however, he didn't make a sound and even though he clenched his teeth hard, he didn't show how much it hurt. 

"You nasty boy!" It was a girl. Much bigger than he was and clearly several years older. She was a Gryffindor, by the patch on her uniform, with red hair and deep green eyes. "Whatever do you think you are doing?" 

"Let me go!" Octavius demanded, telling himself that as the girl was not a teacher or his father he should be able to make the demand with impunity. 

"Oh ho, so you can go off and torture small creatures? I think not! Ow!" She let go when he kicked her in the shins. But she was fast to recover and before he could retrieve his wand, it was held tight in her hand. "You brat!" 

"Give it back!" 

"No." She held it up over her head far above where he could reach. "Not until you promise to stop torturing other living things." 

"Fine. I promise." 

"Wizard's Word?" 

What did that mean? "Yes." 

"All right, here." She handed it back. "If you break your word you'll break out in hives." She grinned at him. "You won't like it. 

He snarled at her. Hives? What was that? It couldn't be any worse than the beatings his father gave him. He turned abruptly and huffed off to the Great Hall for breakfast leaving the older girl fuming but placated. 

He found he was neither first nor last at the Slytherin table. He found a place far from the small groups of friends and when he sat a place setting appeared in front of him. He took a slice of dry toast and practically flung it onto the plate. And then he simply stared at it instead of eating it. 

Someone giggled and he looked up to see several faces turned his way. "It isn't going to attack first, you know," a thin boy with short dark blonde hair told him amusedly. 

"Mind your own affairs," Octavius sneered haughtily. 

The rest of the table broke up in laughter at this. 

Octavius felt his insides clench; he felt a familiar wash of anger blind him; then heard the shattering of glass as something exploded. Someone screamed. He felt something wet and warm run down his face. And then he felt a tightness around his shoulders and arms pressing them against his sides. He could open his eyes then, the anger had passed. Professor Vector's concerned face hovered in front of his. It was she who was holding his arms. 

"I... I'm sorry..." he gasped knowing that whatever had happened had been violent and his fault. He looked past his shocked Head of House to see that his table was covered with glass shards and the remains of pumpkin juice that had been splattered everywhere. 

"Are you in control now?" The Arithmancy professor asked sternly. 

Octavius nodded. Then he looked more closely at the table. There were spatters of blood. He didn't think it was his own. "I'm sorry," he sniffed, mortified at this violent expression of his emotions. 

"This is not acceptable, Mr Lestrange," his Head of House still had not released him. 

He bit his lip. His father often stirred up this anger. He said it showed that the boy wasn't a total weakling but that he was in need of learning control. And then he'd be beaten. Would he be beaten now? He'd hurt his fellow students. Surely that would be more than enough for a beating. A long one with a switch... He shuddered and bit his lip harder as memories fed imagination and terror. 

Well, if you can be calm now, I'll have someone escort you to the Hospital wing." 

Hospital wing? "Who... Who is going to administer my punishment?" 

"What punishment? Uncontrolled magic happens with first years sometimes. You won't be punished, but you will have to learn some control and you will have to talk about your anger with Mr Potter." Vector gingerly released the boy, somewhat taken aback that he appeared to be quite amazed to hear that there was no real punishment to be handed out. 

"Have you experienced uncontrolled magic before, Mr Lestrange?" It was Mr Potter's voice that asked this question. Octavius shifted his gaze to find the man and several other teachers as well as the Headmistress hovering behind his Head of House. 

He nodded slowly, uncertain whether the truth or a lie was better in this instance and so deciding to give the truth for now. 

"We'll talk about it later. First let's get you up to the Hospital wing. You do know that you are bleeding?" 

He shook his head. No, he hadn't realized that. 

Madame Pomfrey was not at all surprised to see him, not considering that she had just finished healing everyone else who had been at the Slytherin table during his outburst. She treated him as gently as she had everyone else and then made sure he had something to eat before releasing him with a note to explain why he was late (again) for a class. 

Meanwhile, the Headmistress and Potter were having an impromptu meeting in her office. Vector would have been there, but she had a class in session. Interestingly, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore was sitting forward in his chair, listening quite attentively to their discussion. 

"There is no evidence that the man murdered his children," McGonagall was reading aloud from a document sent by the Ministry. "It has been confirmed, however, that none of his first seven children survived past the age of nine." She looked up, "apparently they'd rather believe that the Lestrange bloodline is weak rather than that a former Death Eater would murder his children." 

"I'd say both, but the important thing is that we get Octavius away from him." 

"It is not going to be easy." But before the younger wizard could interrupt, the witch continued, "But Lestrange is no longer a young man and all that time he spent in Azkaban could not have done his sanity any good. Surely there is something there that we could work with. The boy has clearly been mistreated. Even if they will not blame the father they can see that he certainly has not protected the child." 

"That's pretty good, Minerva. I wonder if maybe Hermoine could use that." Hermoine Granger (now Granger-Weasley) had become a Mistress of Wizard Law, a field that was the study of both Law and Philosophy with a bit of History thrown in. Her friends all expected her to become a member of the Wizengamot before she was fifty! An unheard of precedent. But in fact, she was not in any hurry. "I'll talk to her. Ginny and I are going to Ron and Hermoine's for dinner on Thursday." He smiled fondly at the thought. "It'll be their fifteenth anniversary this year." 

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully. "I still find I am surprised by that match. Still, if they are happy, that is all that matters." 

"Indeed." 

"And to think you and Ginny just celebrated your sixteenth last spring." The Headmistress removed her glasses and gave them an absentminded polish. "Ah, I remember when you were just a small child yourself..." she trailed off and sighed. "I remember when your father was a child!" 

"And now another generation!" He grinned thinking of his own four and the various nieces and nephews that were almost all red heads. But then he lost the smile as he thought of the Weasley twins who had died during the war and whose names his own twins bore. "I'll talk to Hermoine then. It's probably not the best time, but I don't want to wait."   
  
--   
  
Octavius was attentive in class. That is to say, he did not make noise, he did not pass notes, he did not look at anyone or speak to anyone. He simply bent over his parchment and took copious notes in a carefully precise script, oblivious to the other students around him. In potions class, he was odd man out and so was able to work on his own. So far this had worked out well. But today they had to retrieve some ingredients from the storage cabinet and that meant he had to leave his cauldron unattended. He gave this no thought but someone else did. A ginger-red haired boy whose flyaway locks were all but uncontrollable watched the small Slytherin make his way to the storage bin and wait patiently for his own turn to get what he needed. 

Sirius John Potter knew that his name would not buy him any privilege, but this was too good a chance to pass up. He'd heard all about pranking from his friends Stuart and Sean Finnigan. Stuart and he, in fact, had already decided to become Hogwarts most famous pranksters even before they came to school. And of course this meant practice. Practice entailed finding and easy target. And clearly, the shy, reclusive Slytherin was a very easy and accessible target. Sirius passed the dung bomb to Stuart. Stuart quickly dropped it into the simmering cauldron that had no one looking after it. 

All right, it was an old prank. But this was just practice. it didn't really matter if it had been done before. But neither child realized that dung bombs and this new cleaning potion were not as innocuous as might be expected. The cauldron contents began to sizzle. A nasty, oily smoke began to rise. Octavius quickly tossed in the last ingredient and looked into the cauldron, expecting the color to turn bright orange and smell like whatever orange blossoms smelled like. he really had no idea what that was and so did not realize it was all going bad until the color turned a horrible shade of brackish brown. 

He frowned and wrinkled his nose at the noxious fumes. Nearby, other students were making sounds of intense dismay and moving away from him. He peered into the cauldron again and then consulted his notes. And then peered-- 

A thick burp erupted from the sludge his potion had turned into and he jerked away just in time as the professor, having noticed the growing stench (not to mention the behavior of the other students at that part of the room) pulled him back out of the way as the tar like substance shot straight up at the ceiling. 

A wave of her wand sent the aberrant stuff into oblivion. She glared at Octavius then, realizing his shock meant he knew nothing of what had occurred she turned her ire at the rest of the students. "All right, who put the dung bomb in this cauldron?" 

A sea of innocent (if sick looking) faces stared back at her. She sighed. "Fine. I will assume, then, that since Mr Lestrange is in Slytherin House, this was a Gryffindor prank. Therefore, Gryffindor House will lose two points per student." 

There was, in answer to this proclamation, a long drawn out groan of dismay. And a large number of malevolent glares directed equally between the Slytherin child and two of the Gryffindor students. Sirius John Potter and Stuart Finnigan were not going to get off completely unscathed. "Class dismissed." 

Octavius knew there would be more trouble when the two Gryffindors caught him alone in a quiet corner of the library. He took the initiative and started off by glaring malevolently at them. And then he remembered the disaster of the exploding glassware. "You remember this morning, don't you?" He growled at them. "That could easily be your heads if you don't leave me alone." 

It had, for a moment at least, the desired effect. Both of the other two boys started back. But Sirius John recovered almost at once. "You wouldn't dare! My mother is a professor and my father is the counselor! You'd be expelled in an instant!" 

"You're Potter?" Octavius hissed in surprise. Then he too recovered his wits and he added in a more properly dangerous tone, "Yes, but you'd be dead, wouldn't you." And then he pushed past the two other first years and hurried as quickly as he could to the Slytherin dormitories and the perceived safety of his curtained (and warded) bed. 


	8. Allies

Reviews already! Thank you! I hope you won't be disappointed. I'm juggling two stories now! The first has priority, though I know this one won't let go. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

Sorry about delay in posting this and the other story, but it's been a hectic week, and there was a small flood...

** To Life Again **

Allies 

* * *

Dinner was finished, though Octavius hadn't shown up for it. Rather, he'd gone to wait outside Mr Potter's office door. He told himself that he wasn't hungry. He was, but nervousness efficiently squelched hunger. He knew the man was going to ask those questions he did not want to answer. And Professor Vector had said something about discussing his anger too. His face twisted into an expression of combined anger and dismay, staying that way as frightening thoughts thundered in all directions. 

At last the rushed tapping of hurried footsteps broke his wild reverie and, almost startled, he looked up to see the Counselor striding down the hallway. The man smiled engagingly, almost catching the child off guard. But almost was not enough. Octavius clenched his jaw tight and did not return the friendly expression. He did, however, pull himself up from his slouch against the stone wall and politely greet the man with a quiet, "Good evening sir." 

Mr Potter was not easily swayed by the forced gloom of the boy. "Good evening Mr Lestrange. We missed you at dinner." 

Octavius kept quiet, watching Mr Potter's eyebrows inch up his forehead as the silence between them lengthened. 

"Well, then..." Harry muttered a quiet password and the door to his office opened. He strode in and with a wave of his wand, caused the wall sconces to brighten. "We need to talk about your uncontrolled magic, Octavius." 

"I know. I hurt the other students at my table." At Mr Potter's inviting gesture, he sat down on the comfortable chair in front of the man's desk. "My father says it proves I am not quite a Squib." He didn't include the rest of what his father had said though. 

"You are hardly a Squib, Octavius," Harry smiled as he took his own place behind the desk. "But you do need to learn control." 

"Yes, sir." 

"A more fitting wand would be helpful." 

Octavius cringed at the statement. There was no way his father would get him another wand. "Couldn't I just learn wandless magic, sir?" 

Harry almost smiled at the suggestion. "Not at first, Octavius. One begins by learning how to control magic through one's wand." 

Octavius sighed deeply. "Then I may as well give up now. My wand hates me." 

"I don't think you really want to give up, do you?" 

Octavius shrugged. He looked despondent, broken; resigned to whatever fate waited to doom him. But his mind was working furiously. Maybe he could just run away and live in the Forbidden Forest. Students weren't allowed in there and teachers didn't seem over fond of the place. 

"Octavius?" 

The boy's head snapped up and Harry had to wonder at his inability to pay attention. "Sir?" 

"Your wand... I suggest we have Mr Ollivander have a look at it. Perhaps it merely needs an... an adjustment." 

"My father didn't give me any money sir." 

"Don't worry about that. If the wand is a danger to the school, it must be taken care of." At the child's unconscious look of horror, he added, "I'll pay for it, if there's any fee." 

Octavius nodded silently, but he was still worried. 

"Now, let's talk about your anger. What made you angry this morning?" 

"They laughed at me," the boy mumbled in a small voice that was already becoming something of a growl. 

"Who laughed at you? What do you think they thought was funny?" 

"My own House laughed at me! I don't know why!" And he didn't, really. He'd meant to sound aloof and fearsome. He felt suddenly overheated. 

"What are you thinking, Octavius?" 

"They're all idiots! Dunderheads! The lot of them!" 

Harry jerked at one of the adjectives the child had gasped out. But he dismissed it as a distraction. "Because they laughed at you," he managed to grind out gently. 

"Yes!" the boy hissed back. "And that Gryffindor too!" 

"A Gryffindor also laughed at you?" 

"No, she was earlier. She--" He broke off. 

"What?" 

"I was practicing and she interrupted." 

"How does that make her stupid, Octavius? Look, you don't have to worry about being punished for anything you say to me here." He locked his own green eyes to the child's dark brown ones. But he did no more than that. It would not be right to invade this child's mind with a legilimens spell. 

"I was practicing outside and she made me stop, that's all." 

Harry stared at the boy, willing him to hear his own words and see how unconvincing they were. 

Apparently it worked because very shortly the boy sighed. "She twisted my arm and took away my wand and wouldn't give it back." 

"How did you get it back then?" 

"She made me promise not to practice any more." 

"And Slytherins always keep their promises?" Harry's right eyebrow quirked upwards. 

"She made me swear a Wizard's Oath and said that I would break out in hives otherwise. I looked it up. She wasn't lying." The boy looked quite put out but the effect was not quite as dramatic when he crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. 

"I see. What were you practicing that made her feel she had to extract this promise from you." 

"Cutting Spell." 

Harry gave the boy a curious look. 

The boy sighed. "I was using a beetle." 

Harry sighed. "It's wrong to hurt other creatures, like that, Octavius." 

"Why?" 

"Was it hurting anything?" 

"I don't think so. I was outside." 

"That's its home, then, isn't it?" 

"I suppose." 

Harry said nothing for a moment, just looked at the boy who slowly began to squirm under this scrutiny. "Have you done this sort of practicing often?" 

"On Tuesdays. Other days I'm supposed to practice other things." 

"While you are here at Hogwarts, Octavius, you will only practice what your teachers assign. Not what other tutors or your father assigned. Do you understand?" 

The boy nodded with only mild uncertainty expressed in his features. 

"Did you enjoy making the beetle suffer?" 

Octavius winced. He had long since taught himself not to see any suffering in any of his victims reactions. They were insects and rodents and didn't think anyway! But... the mice did seem to cry. 

"Octavius?" 

"No sir. But bugs don't feel anything anyway, do they?" 

"It doesn't matter. You should feel for them even if they can't." 

"Why?" 

"Because far too often feeling nothing for even the smallest creatures inspires us to forget that larger creatures, other people even, also feel." Harry took a deep breath. "It hurt when the others laughed at you." 

"Yes." 

"So you were the beetle for their amusement." 

Octavius winced. 

"They should not have laughed at you and you should not be torturing others either. Now let's get back to seeing about controlling your anger." 

"I shouldn't get angry." 

"No, that's not right. Everyone gets angry. But you need to learn not to react without thinking things through. Especially since your magic is so strong." 

Now the child looked surprised. 

"My magic is strong?" 

"I'd say so, Octavius. You shattered every glass in a radius of several meters." 

"Oh no..." 

"It's all right, you aren't in trouble. But you do see why I want to understand what is going on in your head that makes it so hard for you to control yourself." 

"I don't know, sir. Everything goes away." At the older wizard's look of incredulity he tried to explain, "I can't really see anything anymore. I explode." 

Harry nodded, "I see. Well." he made a thoughtful face. "Whenever you begin to feel angry, I want you to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment and then slowly let it out counting ever more slowly to ten. While doing that, imagine all the anger and tension flowing out with it. It might not work completely at first but after a while it should. don't wait for the anger to build up. The idea is to catch it early and small." 

Octavius nodded. 

"I also want you to get away from the situation as quickly as you can." 

Octavius nodded again. 

"All right then. What say we forage a snack from the kitchens?" 

Octavius blinked in confusion. 

"I'm hungry and I bet you are too." He smiled. 

A small, tentative, smile grew on Octavius' face.   
  
--   
  
Two days later found Harry and Ginny sitting comfortably in Hermoine and Ron's sitting room at their small cottage near Ottery St Catchpole. Stars were shining outside, for the night was clear and unseasonably warm. Ron poured some more tea and sighed contently. "That was a grand dinner," he said already waxing nostalgic. 

Ginny laughed. Ron and Hermoine merely shook their heads. 

"So what about this boy you said you wanted to discuss with us?" Hermoine changed the subject, letting her curiosity come out to play. 

Ginny gave a pained sigh and set her teacup back into its saucer with a soft clink. "He reminds Harry of Snape--" She broke off when Ron seemed to choke on his tea. "Oh Ron don't be stupid." 

"Stupid? Merlin, I haven't thought of that greasy old git in years! Thanks so much for the reminder on **_my anniversary!"_**

Ginny giggled despite herself. 

Hermoine rolled her eyes and sighed. "Our anniversary and if I'm not upset why should you be? Anyway, how does he remind you of Professor Snape, Harry?" 

"And why should we care?" muttered Ron, still wallowing in his ill humor. 

Harry sighed. "The boy has certain mannerisms... A way of looking at one... That's not what is important. What matters is that the child is abused and I want to get him away from his father." 

"Well what about his mother--?" 

"He is Rodolphus Lestrange's son." Harry interrupted in a quiet voice. 

"Lestrange?" Ron didn't choke this time but his eyes were bulging. "Another baby Dark Eater. Just what the world needs." 

"The child's name is Octavius. Would you care to hear why he has that name?" 

"Erm--" 

Harry didn't wait for a decision, "Because he is only a number to that man; the eighth child born." 

"What happened to the other seven?" Hermoine asked with great reticence. 

"They died. All before the age of nine." Harry's angry visage pierced her horrified one. "I've no doubt Lestrange killed them." 

"Harry, you can't prove it!" Ginny reminded him. 

"The boy told you this?" Ron asked, no longer playing a game. Rather as concerned as the others for an endangered child. 

"Not directly. He won't will he? He thinks he needs to prove himself to this monster of a father." 

"The boy told Harry that his father said he would be the last even if he failed." Ginny murmured. 

She winced as Harry added, "the direct quote is 'He says it's not worth finding a suitable wife and he'll be damned if he's going to sire a bastard heir.'" 

"But Bellatrix died during the final battle with Voldemort!" Hermoine pointed out. 

"All that means is that she's not the boy's mother." Ron shrugged. "So, what happened to the first seven children?" 

Hermoine blanched. "I don't think I want to know." Then she sighed again, "But I suppose I'm going to have to find out. You want to have the child removed from Rodolphus' stewardship, don't you, Harry." It wasn't a question. 

"Yes! Merlin! You should see him! No child should be so abused. What other chance is he going to have? It's our duty to save him from this nightmare." 

"What does Minerva say?" 

"She agrees of course!" 

"I'll find out what I can. At least he's safe at Hogwarts for the time being." She cast a look at Ron and he nodded his support. 


	9. Unexpected Experiences

Reviews already! Thank you! I hope you won't be disappointed. I'm juggling two stories now! The first has priority, though I know this one won't let go. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

** To Life Again **

Unexpected Experiences 

* * *

Breakfast was, without a doubt, Hogwarts' most subdued meal. To be sure, there was plenty of chattering. But unless there was some event or rumor of great import, there were enough bleary eyed not-a-morning-persons to keep the general noise level down to an almost somnolent rumble rounded out with an occasional yell across the hall. At any rate, it was the one meal that Octavius did not find himself shuddering at the thought of attending. As always, he had completed his morning ablutions without the fuss or fanfare that accompanied his housemates' morning rituals. He greeted every morning the same way, neither bemoaning the hour but equally, not with any anticipation of the day. Although now that he was banned from the early morning exercises assigned by his father he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He stared at his plate with its spattering of toast crumbs and the smear of jam that were the remains of his breakfast. It was too early to go to class. He supposed he could read. But rather than take out any of his texts, he let his attention wander about the room. Mr Potter and Professor Weasley-Potter were at the Head Table, their heads together and laughter coming from their direction. 

Blushing for some unknown reason, he looked away; at the other two Slytherins at his table, a pair of Seventh years as equally immersed in each other as the two staff members. This wasn't helping. He looked over at the Gryffindor table and noticed the older girl who had taken his wand yesterday. He blushed harder, again without knowing why. 

She may have sensed his attention or perhaps it was a coincidence. She looked away from the friends she'd been conversing with and her eyes found his. 

She smiled and her attention returned to her friends. 

Coincidence then. It had been a smile not a smirk. He ducked his head, flustered. People didn't smile at him. 

Harry and Ginny might have appeared to any one who cared to observe them, as thoroughly unaware of the world around them as any newly wed couple. But that 'any one' would have been surprised to hear that their conversation was light years away from amorous. They were discussing one first year Slytherin and the visit to Diagon Ally that was going to be taking place far sooner than the child in question had inkling. Last night it had been decided that Octavius Lestrange needed to have his wand seen to. Replaced most likely. And then the tool would be handed over to a trusted friend for research into its history. 

Just as Octavius finally rose, Harry gulped down the last of his scrambled eggs and pumpkin juice, pecked his wife on the cheek and hurried to catch the young Slytherin before he left for his first class. "Mr Lestrange!" He called out, smiling reassuringly in the hope that the boy would not assume he was in trouble. "Wait a moment, please." 

Of course the boy waited; head bowed and uncertainty evident in his slumped posture. 

"The Headmistress has decided that it won't do for you to miss out on wand work while we wait for a weekend trip to Ollivander's." 

"Sir?" The boy looked up fearfully. 

"We're going this morning. Your teachers have been notified that you will be missing classes today and tomorrow." 

"All of them, sir?" 

Harry shrugged. "One never knows how long these things will take. Besides, there is other school business I can attend to while we are there. Have you been to Diagon Ally before?" 

"No sir," Octavius replied shaking his head. 

The older wizard smiled even more broadly. "It's grand, you'll see," he promised with a hushed and reverent whisper. "Come now, The Hogwarts Express won't wait for us forever. I'll wait for you by the main doors while you put your class things away. You won't need them today. Just bring your wand and things for an overnight stay." 

Once at the station, Harry paid their fare and quickly led the boy aboard the hissing steam engine. The pair found the very first compartment of the train empty and they claimed it as their own. Very soon the train gave an experimental hoot and then with a slight warning lurch rumbled away from the station. He smiled encouragingly when the motion brought a faintly panicked look to the boy's wan face. "Not used to trains then, are you." 

"No sir," Octavius shook his head. 

"I think it's a pleasant mode of travel. Very relaxing I say. Quite the opposite of flying." 

"I don't think I like flying very much sir. I'm not awfully good at it yet." 

"Ah. But you are planning to be good at it then?" 

"Yes sir. It is part of the curriculum." 

"I see." But what he saw only discouraged him. It was not for enjoyment that the boy wanted to fly. The silence lengthened and while the boy did not seem at all fazed by this, (he seemed quite content to stare out the window at the passing scenery), Harry wanted it filled with the sounds of conversation. "So which classes do you like best, Octavius?" He asked (finally deciding that question was likely less frightening than 'what do you like to do?'). 

"I don't know, sir" the child replied after a moment's hesitation. "I'm sure they are all important, sir," he added quickly. 

"Well, I suppose they must be, but that does not preclude one having preferences. You did say that you did not fancy flying." 

"But I did not complain about the class, sir. There is nothing wrong with the class, it's just me that's no good." 

"Oh no, Octavius. You mustn't think that. One of my best friends is a terrible flyer but he is an excellent wizard all the same. No one is talented in all things." 

"I'm not talented in any," the boy sighed. 

"I am sure that's not right, Octavius." 

"It is, my father already told me. I just want to show that I am not a Squib and then he'll let me ... " 

Harry's eyebrows lifted questioningly, "Yes?" 

"Continue the bloodline, sir." This was mumbled barely audibly. 

"What do you recall of your brothers and sisters then?" 

The boy paled and shook his head. "Nothing." 

His expression was unconsciously one of sheer terror. Harry immediately backed away from that subject. He waited for the boy to turn away and resume his study of the countryside before he frowned worriedly to himself. 

The rest of the morning was spent in silence. Or near silence as after falling asleep, the child made small distressed sounds in between his gentle snores. Harry only woke him after purchasing some refreshment when the Tea Cart and its elderly witch caretaker came to their compartment. He rubbed his back gently and hoping this would not startle him. 

Octavius drifted slowly to wakefulness, wafting gently through the stages of confusion, denial, and realization. "Oh." He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times until the smiling wizard with the lightning bolt scared came into clear focus. "I'm sorry, sir." 

"For what?" The man sounded both amused and slightly annoyed. "It's completely normal to fall asleep riding on a train with a boring old man," he grinned. 

Octavius blushed. "You are neither sir. I meant...erm..." 

"Not a word, Octavius. You did nothing that needs any apology. Now, let's have a bite to eat. The house-elves packed us a nice lunch, but I thought something from the Tea Cart would be enough for elevenses." He passed the boy a pumpkin juice and a buttered scone. 

The rest of the trip went smoothly if not quietly. Harry himself fell asleep shortly after lunch and was as surprised as his charge when the train finally pulled up and stopped at its London berth. They blinked at each other and while the adult grinned, the child maintained his severe demeanor, clearly to hide his fear of this new situation. 

Harry patted his shoulder in what he wanted to be a reassuring manner. "Come. We'll walk to Diagon Ally and you'll get your first view of Muggle London on the way." He nudged the boy's back to get him moving. 

The boy's eyes widened with alarm and he shrank away. "Wild Muggles?" his voice was at least an octave higher than normal. 

Harry tried very hard not to laugh. It helped to remind himself that in truth this was not very funny, but rather a demonstration of the child's upbringing. "They are not wild, Octavius. They are just like us but with a different sort of magic." 

"They don't have magic!" 

"Well, not as we know it. They have found a different way to control their environment. You will see. Come along, it's quite safe." He wanted to add that it was certainly safer than what he was used to living with Rodolphus, but wisely refrained. 

They made an odd sight, walking down the streets in their slightly odd clothing. They would have seemed odder wearing robes, but Harry had taken those, shrunk them, and stuffed them in his pocket. Harry's clothing, while somewhat outdated, nonetheless was clean, in good condition, and fit well. The same could not be said for Octavius' clothing. While it was clean enough, the school uniform was quite ancient, worn and faded, and did not fit him well. Castoffs without a doubt. But if anyone noticed, they certainly didn't care enough to take a second look, rushing about their business with the singlemindedness that modern life demanded. Harry resisted the temptation to take the boy's hand while Octavius resisted the temptation to run into the nearest ally and hide. 

"They don't seem wild, sir." Octavius noted at last. It had been a few minutes since he'd stopped looking so frightened. He'd initially wrapped his arms about his torso and walked hunched over. Gradually he'd straightened up enough to observe his surroundings and his hands had at last been shoved in his trouser pockets. "But they do seem mad. Why do so many of them talk to themselves?" 

Harry laughed. "They aren't. See that thing in that man's ear?" He nodded at a well dressed Muggle who'd come to a halt at the corner ahead of them to wait to cross the street. "That's part of his cell phone. They use those instead of fire-calling." Or hand mirrors but he didn't mention that. 

"That's terrible!" 

"What? Why?" 

"They are never alone!" 

"Oh they aren't talking to each other all the time. They can shut down the phones just as we shut down a fire-call." 

"They are all in a rush." 

"Yes. Mostly." 

"They look funny." 

"We look funny to them." 

The boy said nothing more but looked everywhere with quiet intensity. Harry silently watched him study the crowds and streets and noise that was Central London on a weekday. 

At last they came to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry got them a room where they left their overnight things and changed back into robes. There was nothing for it now. Octavius was about to be introduced to wizarding London. 

Which turned out to be a mix of both the familiar and the alien. There were so many people! And so much noise, at least as loud as the Muggles, but it was a different kind of noise. 

"Ollivander's first, Octavius," Harry reminded him as he stopped to stare at a shop full of owls. He took the boy's shoulder and urged him forward, releasing him just as the boy flinched at the touch. He pretended nothing untoward had happened. Perhaps if he didn't remind the boy, he'd learn to relax. He doubted it, though. "This way," he nudged with verbal rather than physical cues, until they stood before the quint, dark shop that displayed a single wand on a purple pillow in its show window. 

"It looks closed." Octavius stated hopefully. 

Harry smiled and shook his head. Then reached forward and opened the door. Harry had been here several times since the purchase of his own first wand, most recently earlier in the summer when the whole family had gone to kit up everyone including the youngest Weasley-Potter, Sirius John. 

Mr Ollivander himself emerged from the dark recesses of the shop's back rooms only a moment later. "Good afternoon, Mr Potter." He glanced down at the too small eleven year old beside the hero of the wizarding world. "This would be Mr Lestrange, then. Good afternoon, lad." 

"Good afternoon, sir." 

"I recall your father's first wand..." But he trailed off suddenly when he saw the wand in the boy's hand. "Dear me, that would be it." He reached out a spindly hand for it. "I am certain that is _not_ the wand for you, young man." 

Octavius frowned. "Father said it was fine." 

Ollivander looked down his nose at the boy. "And is your father a wand maker?" 

The boy blushed and looked down at his feet before shaking his head. "No sir." 

The old man made a harumphing sound. "No indeed. Just too cheap to get you a wand of your own." The family was not known to be poor. Indeed, Rodolphus was known to spend many galleons for whatever whim struck him. 

"Well, sir, he hasn't decided that I deserve one yet." Octavius defended his parent with quiet matter-of-factness. 

Ollivander snorted his disdain of that idea and set about investigating the wand. His stern expression soon deepened into something not unlike anger. At last he looked up and shot a glare directly into Harry's eyes. "This is most certainly not the wand for this or any child." He gave the pair a forbidding look. 

"Is it broken, sir?" Octavius asked before Harry could say anything. 

"No, not broken. But it is not the wand for you." He gave Harry another, significant look that made the younger wizard almost blanch. "We will find something more suitable." 

Harry nodded, looking relieved. But Octavius only looked frightened. 

Two hours later, however, he was looking excited. They'd found a wand which apparently liked him. A lot, if the showers of silver and neon sparkles were any indication! it was a lightweight ebony with unicorn tail of twelve and three-quarter inches. It was smooth and soft and fit his small hand with an uncommon elegance. He stood at the door turning it about in the stray beams of sunlight that filtered in while Mr Potter paid for the magical wonder. 

"Mr Potter," Ollivander hissed in a low whisper. "Hold onto this wand and inform Minerva McGonagall that I will be by this Sunday to give it a good looking over. It seems her and your concerns about it are not unfounded." 

Harry nodded and packed the offensive object away before moving to the door to herd his charge outside. 

"Thank you, sir!" The boy's voice rang with genuine happiness for once. 

"Well, the afternoon is almost gone, but I think we've enough time to get you a few more things that you really should have." 

"What else do I need, sir?" 

"Well, you could do with some more recent textbooks. There have been new editions that make the ones your father sent with you quite obsolete. In fact, your potions book is even older than the one I used in my first year! And your Transfiguration book has to be even older." 

"Father said that if I couldn't figure out for myself what was going on the books were not going to help me anyway." 

Harry snorted. "Your father has not kept up with the educational requirements of the modern age." That was being kind. 

"Well... He is rather old." 

"Let's see about getting you some up to date books then, shall we? You should at least be using the texts everyone else is." 

Octavius nodded and they went to buy textbooks. Harry bought a novel for Ginny (a mystery at sea that was part of a series she was fond of) and another for himself (Muggle science fiction)while they were at the booksellers. Then they went back to the Leaky Cauldron, had supper and retired for the evening, he to read, Octavius to sleep and dream about his new wand. 


	10. Shopping Spree and Ice Cream

Reviews already! Thank you! I'm juggling two stories still! But now I give them equal priority. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. 

** To Life Again **

Shopping Spree and Ice Cream 

* * *

Harry woke up with a start. Had he been dreaming? He reached over for his wife and found, instead, the too close edge of the bed and a wall just beyond it. A gentle but unfamiliar wheezing snore snagged him by the edges and he remembered where he was and why he was there and with whom. He smiled to himself. For such a little kid, he had quite the snore! He rolled onto his other side and stared out at the darkness. Should a little kid even be snoring? Was that what woke him? 

He felt his face crinkle at the idea. No. That uneasy breathing was not the culprit. 

Voldemort. He'd been dreaming of the last battle, of Severus Snape's death in the arms of... In the arms of the dead Albus Dumbledore. He frowned and squinted at the memory that wasn't at all clear. Battle, death. He'd fainted at some point and when he'd awakened in the Hospital Wing a healer had said something about shock. Dumbledore had died in a battle with Death Eaters nowhere near where Harry (and Snape) had been. Other side of the castle... 

He heard a sharp intake of breath and then a long wheezing sigh from the other small bed. Curious, and his earlier ruminations of the past forgotten, he rolled over to grab the antique pocket watch Ginny had gotten him and his wand from the bedside table. _"Lumos,"_ he whispered softly, and held the dim wand-light over the face of the watch. Seven o'clock in the morning. So it was time to rise, anyway. He held the wand up and called out the spell to light up the lamps in their room. As soon as they flared he heard the rustling of bedclothes as Octavius was awakened. 

He turned and smiled as the boy rubbed his eyes and fought to gain his bearings. "Good morning Octavius," he greeted more cheerfully than anyone ought in an early morning. 

"Good morning, sir," the boy replied with no hint of the bleariness that resided on his face. He slid out from the warmth of the blankets, shivering at the cold that his torn nightshirt did nothing to protect him against. 

Harry murmured another charm and the room seemed to warm up suddenly. "That's better. Now let's get washed up, dressed and we can have a nice big breakfast." 

Octavius nodded. Steeling himself for the cold hall and toilet, he scurried out of the room on the older wizard's heels. "Oh!" He said rather more loudly than he intended. He shrank back as Mr Potter turned to him with a questioning look on his face. "Erm..." 

Harry chuckled. "I cast the charm on us to stay warm, Octavius, not the room." He grinned. 

"I'd like to learn that one, sir." 

"Comes in handy when the landlord is too cheap to put in modern heating." He laughed. 

Octavius nodded, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. 

A half hour later found the pair at a table dining on eggs, sausages, toast with marmalade, tea and honey glazed buns. "Breakfast is one of my favorite meals," Harry sighed. "But it doesn't seem to be yours." 

"I don't eat very much, sir. Father says too much food will ruin me." 

"Yes? What about too little? Please eat at least another sweet bun and some more eggs." 

"But you've finished, sir." 

Harry shook his head. "I'm still having my tea. Besides, we must still plan out our day." 

"We must?" 

"Well, you could use another school robe and uniform. Do you only have the one set?" 

"Yes. Father says that I'm not handsome enough to tart up like a Malfoy and --" He stopped as the Counselor started laughing loudly. "Sir?" 

"Sorry. It's not funny, really. Did he really say that?" 

"Yes, sir. I don't lie." He sat up stiff-backed and crossed his arms over his chest in a manner frighteningly like someone from the depths of Harry's own sad past. 

Harry bit at his lower lip as a ghostly image of a long dead -- adult -- wizard was superimposed over the image of the insulted boy across from him. He caught himself and blinked hard and then saw once more only the too small child. "I did not mean to imply any such thing. But that's not exactly a phrase I'd have thought your father would apply to the Malfoy family. Anyway, it's mean. You are a fine looking lad and even if you weren't you deserve warm clothing without the air conditioning!" He very nearly banged his teacup on its saucer. 

"Sir?" The small body cringed, losing the faux haughtiness and pulling nervously away from the adult. 

"Oh! I'm sorry, Octavius. I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm not upset with you, don't worry." He took a deep mind clearing breath. "Back to planning then. Another school robe and uniform -- don't worry, we can buy second hand if that makes you feel better. Some quills and parchment and fresh ink. Fresh potions kit." He observed the fear filled black eyes and stopped. "I think that's all you need, actually." 

The boy looked relieved at this, though he gnawed at his bottom lip as if to hold back his thoughts from being spoken. 

"Right. If you're finished, I think we can get to our shopping." 

They went first to the second hand shop where the robes, artfully reconditioned by the proprietress, were in much better shape than the one Octavius had. They were, at least, still black and relatively unfrayed. As he was an unusually small child, the proprietress had offered (for a small fee) to cut and restitch the hem and sleeves of two of the robes Harry had chosen. He also found a third one in thick heavy velveteen, quite old fashioned but exceedingly fine, that he managed to hide from the boy. This one he would have (ok, he'd ask Mrs Weasley for the favor) recut to fit and present it as a gift for the next holiday feast. Then they picked out the shirts, ties and trousers that were worn beneath the robes. Used, of course. there was no way that he'd convince the boy to let the school buy anything new. Well, he'd outgrow them soon enough anyway, if they could get and keep him eating as he should. 

Harry paid for the purchases and shrank them down to fit in his pocket with the overnight bags. They then went on to the stationers where Harry purchased the promised quills, ink and parchment, and some papyrus for Ginny as she'd taken a fondness for the stuff. 

Once again in the Ally, they paused and looked about. Octavius with curiosity, Harry with a goal. "Ah," Harry purred, "There's the place we want next." A wide grin crinkled his eyes and Octavius turned to look to where the man pointed. 

"Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour," Octavius read. "What is that?" 

"An ice cream parlor. A place to sit and enjoy a bowl of ice cream, or even a sundae, and watch the world scurry about you." 

Octavius gave him a look of incredulity. "Are you ill sir?" 

"No I'm not ill. Have you never had ice cream?" He didn't wait for the answer he already knew. "No, of course not. It figures. Come then, a treat you will never forget." He guided his young charge to one of the outdoor tables and they sat beneath the shade of a large umbrella. 

Almost immediately a grinning, florid wizard came out to attend them, his smile one of genuine cheer. "Well, well, Mr Harry Potter and friend. How are you this fine and glorious day?" 

Octavius gave the bubbling wizard a sour look. But Harry answered graciously and with a wide smile. "It is a fine day, sir and we are both well and ready for dishes of ice cream." 

"Of course! And what flavors will you try today?" 

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "Oh I think just raspberry for me. Octavius, what fruit do you like?" 

The boy shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know sir. Might I have what you are having?" 

Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion but all he did was nod. "Very well then, two simple dishes of raspberry ice cream." Fortescue nodded and hurried back inside his emporium. "Octavius, exactly how limited is your experience with fruit?" 

"I don't know sir, we don't have much. Father never told me the names of everything we eat." 

"How do you decide what to eat at Hogwarts?" 

"Oh I don't worry overmuch about it, sir. I doubt the Headmistress is going to poison her students." 

Harry was beginning to wonder what passed for conversation in the Lestrange household. 

But not for long because the ice cream showed up very quickly and he tucked in without hesitation. Octavius watched him for a moment then tentatively stuck his spoon in the frozen treat. He sniffed it, wrinkled his nose, then finally took the leap of faith. His eyes widened in surprise and delight and he devoured the ice cream with a gusto approaching that of his companion. In fact he practically inhaled the stuff and was scraping out the bowl while Mr Potter was still only two thirds through his portion. 

He then sat still and watched his elder eat with unusually wide eyes. 

"All right!" Harry got the hint and gave in to it. "Would you like another serving? Maybe strawberry this time? Or chocolate?" 

"Please could I have more raspberry?" 

Harry laughed and got him another dish. 

They next paid a visit to Gringotts (Octavius was shocked, frightened, then elated by the cart ride and never noticed anything more until they were back outside in the sunshine). Harry then led them out of the Ally, through the Leaky Cauldron and into a tall narrow box in a grubby side street. He felt the boy's gaze observing as he dialed the number and then the child jumped as the lovely voice greeted them. 

"I'm here to see Mr Ron Weasley," Harry replied to the greeting that filled the box, a smile directed at the small, wide eyed boy at his side. "Hold on," he whispered "We'll be going straight down." 

And then they did, Octavius barely able to keep from screaming. Once they were deposited at the Atrium, Harry pinned on his and Octavius' visitors' badges and they went to the end of the short line that lead to the security guard checking all the wands. The person in front of them was a harried looking witch with her hat on askew. She had purple hair and an angry look. She practically snarled at the guard when he wanted to check her wand, but he wasn't budging and she gave it up with merely a snarled harumph when he handed it back and passed her through. 

Then it was Harry and Octavius' turn. The man seemed friendly enough, smiling at the boy and complimenting him on his new wand. 

Just then a redheaded someone emerged from one of the fireplaces along the Atrium hallway and started to trot toward them, limping slightly. "Oi!" He called out, waving, "Harry, mate!" 

The guard passed them through and the two visitors hurried forward. The two men greeted each other with sound thumps on their backs. Then Harry stepped back and brought Octavius to stand in front of him. "Ron, I'd like you to meet Octavius Lestrange." 


	11. A Meeting and Back Again

This turned out to be a difficult chapter to write and I'm still unsure why. Thank you for your patience and for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

** To Life Again **

A Meeting and Back Again 

* * *

Ron Weasley's expressive face could not hide his wary surprise before shifting to a friendly yet somehow stilted, uncomfortable smile. "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Octavius."

"Thank you sir," the boy replied politely while staring thoughtfully first at the tall man's face then at his brilliant red hair. No doubt he connected the name and hair to his Transfigurations Professor.

"We're here doing some much needed shopping." Harry explained. "Apparently Mr Lestrange the elder was not aware of the changes to the curriculum. He sent the lad to Hogwarts with textbooks we are no longer using."

"Ah so that's why you're not in class. Bloody great excuse! I wish I'd thought of it when I was in school!" Ron grinned. But when the boy merely looked at him with cool disdain, his smile faltered. The boy clearly did not have a sense of humor. Not that Ron could blame him for that.

"Ah! And a new wand." Harry added, ignoring the sudden drop in ambient temperature.

Now the child's eyes lit up. Genuine excitement shone in his face as he dug it out of his robes and held it out for Mr Potter's friend to see.

Ron gave a whistle of admiration. "Lovely one, that." He bent forward to obviously admire the wand. "Ebony. A very nice wood, Octavius. What core?"

"Unicorn tail, sir." The boy was failing at any effort to appear nonchalant, clearly welcoming this attention despite his instincts.

Ron nodded and straightened up, grimacing slightly at a twinge of pain. "Use it well, Octavius." He smiled down at the boy who was now looking at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Ron quirked his eyebrows at the unspoken question. "War wound," he explained almost dismissively. "Before your time. Why don't you go take a closer look at the fountain while Mr Potter and I talk a bit."

"Yes sir, thank you sir." Octavius was delighted to be able to have a chance to study the monstrous artifact and he strode purposefully off to do so unaware of the two men staring after him.

"He even walks like him," Harry muttered as much to himself as to Ron standing next to him mouth agape at seeing exactly the same thing.

"That's got to be discouraged... You mean Snape, don't you. You know... Yeah, you're right. But why? How?"

Harry shook his head. An odd sort of sensation, a memory of a feeling from a dream, nothing more substantial than that tugged at his thoughts. "I don't know. But that's not why I'm here. We looked up records of children listed to be invited to Hogwarts. There were three before Octavius with the surname Lestrange but all were crossed out with dates of death noted beside them."

"We found death certificates for all his siblings. The most recent, Septima, died at the age of seven, six years ago. The first appears to have died shortly after childbirth. The mother was Bellatrix. The rest all seem to have resulted from various short lived unions with only pureblood witches."

"What were the causes of the deaths?" Harry's voice shook.

"Household accidents. Each and every one of them. Unbelievable." Ron shook his head in disbelief.

"Apparently very believable!" The angry retort hissed back.

"Harry. Calm down. The kid's noticed. Anyway, now that we know, we can try to do something about it."

"The most important thing is to get that boy away from danger."

"Yeah, I agree. But nothing we have yet is going to help."

"So what do you think of him?"

"The boy? He's ... polite."

"I think I would adopt him once we get him away from his father."

"Harry, are you mad? You have four already! How do you think they'd feel?" Ron gave his friend a hard look. "Do you think you love him the way you do your own?"

Harry looked down at the floor. "I don't know."

"Right. Well, let's rescue him first and then figure out where to place him. Anyway, he's at the school for the next seven years. That's something of a cushion."

"Is it enough?"

"If you and Minerva can keep him from going home for holidays it might be."

There was nothing more to be discussed and Harry passed over the bundle of parchment that included copies of Madame Pomfrey's findings, notes he'd made while investigating the dead Lestrange offspring and anything else he hoped might be helpful. the only notes he had not included were those he could not; the words of the child who only spoke because Harry had promised him what he said would not be shared elsewhere. He then gathered Octavius from the fountain (he'd taken up swirling his fingers and wand in the water after tiring of simply studying the forms of the statues) and led him back outside.

"Last on the list is potions supplies," Harry reminded the boy cheerfully. "Then we'll have lunch, unless you are hungry now."

"No, I'm fine." He'd had the two bowls of ice cream just before the visit after all.

Octavius was enthralled with the apothecary, its barrels and shelves of ingredients, the bundles of herbs and feathers, although not with the smell of sulfur and mold. Nonetheless, while Mr Potter troubled himself over the necessary potions ingredients for class, Octavius himself wandered the shop with unbridled curiosity, though he was careful to touch nothing. And not just because of the sour old man who was all but following him with irritated scrutiny.

At last, Mr Potter called him and they left the store to have lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and finally flooed back to Hogsmeade.

The sun hung low in the sky in Scotland at this time of year despite the fact that it wasn't really all that late in the day. But it seemed appropriate as the adventure was winding down to its conclusion. Harry decided that a visit to Honeydukes was in order and he escorted the young Slytherin to the sweet shop. The boy eyed the delicacies with a combined look of disdain and desire which Harry could not help but notice even though the boy pretended only disdain whenever he realized anyone's eye was on him. He kept his hands jammed in his pockets but his eyes swept the shelves and bins with hopeless curiosity.

"Let's go, Mr Lestrange" the summons caught him unawares as he gazed at a display of chocolate truffles that changed the shapes of their decorations while he watched. He moved away from the show and followed his teacher out of the store. "Stop there and hold out your hands." Mr Potter ordered.

Octavius' eyes widened. "I didn't take anything!"

"I know that. Here." A box of chocolate frogs was held out to him. "These are for you for putting up with this interruption in your routine."

Octavius reached for the box hesitantly.

"I'm not going to change my mind, Octavius," Mr Potter whispered gently.

The boy bit his lip and took the box, clutching it tightly to his chest. "Thank you sir."

A quick grin answered him. "Just don't eat the whole box in one sitting Mr Lestrange. You might get quite a severe stomach ache then."

They hiked back to Hogwarts in subdued silence, each mulling about the confines of their own thoughts. Each glancing surreptitiously at the other. Afternoon classes were over for the day, but it was still too early for the evening meal. There were students outside, playing and relaxing on the grounds but no one greeted Octavius as they passed although more than a few shouts were directed at Potter. As they neared the entrance the front doors exploded outward with a rush of first year boys. One of them had the wild ginger colored hair that identified him as Harry's youngest, Sirius John.

"Boys! A little less violence in your exit, if you please."

"Sorry Dad," "Sorry sir" a mix of voices mumbled contritely back as the boys, five of them apparently, came to a halt on the stairs.

"You do know that other people might be coming in as you are exiting, yes?"

"Yes sir." Five pairs of eyes shifted towards the young Slytherin but no one said anything.

"All right, then. Please be careful, boys. Come along Mr Lestrange, let's get you back to Professor Vector, then."  
  
--  
  
The night brought a cover of clouds with it and a less than gentle wind had picked up and now buffeted the castle and its mostly sleeping occupants. Harry and Ginny lay tangled in one another's arms sweaty but satisfied. Neither quite asleep yet. Harry shifted his weight and changed his position slightly.

"Better not hog the covers," a bleary threat came from the lips of his loving wife.

Harry laughed and carefully arranged the blankets so that they were both tucked comfortably in. "How's that, love?"

"Missing something," came back.

Harry chuckled again and wrapped himself around his wife's still athletic form.

"S'better." Came the approval. Neither said anything more and both seemed to drift off into sweet sleep.

Silence reigned but sleep eluded Harry still. He shifted again, but carefully in hopes that he would not disturb Ginny. He fell asleep soon after and dreamt of the War again. 


	12. Communications From the Subconscious

Thank you for the kind and helpful reviews. Your questions inspire me and cause me to think harder on what I write. I'm juggling two stories still! But now I give them equal priority. Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

** To Life Again **

Communications from the Subconscious 

* * *

The screams and cries pounded against him, making concentration all but impossible. All about them wizards and witches were fighting and dying. All about he saw nothing but flashes of color, smoke, fog, the blooded earth, a hidden sky. All about he felt nothing. Nothing at all. 

Once again the universe narrowed down to a single focus. 

Voldemort. 

More precisely, Voldemort and himself battling for... Well, for very different reasons, actually. 

Then suddenly it is over. The wizard who rejected his humanity was vanquished. No more than ashes and char remained of him. The screaming and fighting didn't -- hadn't -- stopped immediately. And that's why Harry knew he was dreaming. Because there were no more sounds. Not a one. Nothing at all but the sound of the dark haired man dying in his arms. 

Except there was Albus Dumbledore; standing and cradling something small. "His first life and it went so wrong..." 

Harry woke suddenly, jackknifing abruptly. "Dumbledore." 

Ginny grunted with mock ire. "Fine thing, that. Most men mutter their lovers' names, not their ex-headmaster's." 

"Sorry, Ginny. Go back to sleep, love." 

"Can't." The woman sat up alongside her spouse. "What was it?" 

Harry sighed. "The last battle." 

"Ah." Ginny wrapped her arms about her knees and hugged herself as her thoughts went back to that day. She only realized she was crying when Harry's finger gently brushed away her tears. 

"I'm sorry." 

"You don't have to be. Of all people, you shouldn't be." She sniffed, though, thinking of those lost. 

"Nonetheless--" 

"What did you dream, exactly?" 

But his answer was not quite an answer. "Ginny, what do you know about reincarnation?" 

Ginny turned a look of confusion on him. "What? Just the same as you, I suspect. It's the idea that when one dies, one's soul is reborn in another body." 

"I dreamt of Albus and he said something about reincarnation." Harry sighed and without realizing it, folded himself into the same self hugging position as his wife's. 

She, however, did notice and it was she who moved first, changing her focus from self to couple. She embraced her husband and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Reincarnation? Albus?" She asked at last. 

"Ye-- No. No," Harry's voice dropped to a rough whisper, his eyes wide as a memory long buried resurfaced. "He said he would no longer reincarnate because he'd chosen to be a guide for other souls." 

"Oh Harry. I know what you are thinking." She pulled back to look him in the eye. 

"You do?" 

"You think Octavius Lestrange is Severus Snape reincarnated." 

He nodded slowly. "Yes... Yes, I think I do." 

"But that's... There's no proof for reincarnation --" 

"It doesn't matter, Ginny. No matter who he is or was, Octavius is a child in jeopardy. We have to rescue him. I won't let any more children suffer!"   
  
Octavius lay wide awake in the dark. He didn't feel sleepy at all. No, he felt exhausted and worried, but that was normal. What wasn't normal was the twisting pain of disappointment. Mr Potter and that boy were father and son. How could it be possible? How could the man be so... kind and the son be so mean? 

Octavius heard himself sigh and then the inner voice that sounded altogether too much like his father's voice told him not to be stupid. Of course no one was really nice and surely not to an undeserving child such as himself who couldn't even passably control his magic. No, Mr Potter was simply doing his job, asking those questions and talking softly to him meant nothing. Just as he meant nothing. Considering the history of failure among his predecessors, he was actually surprised to have made it into Hogwarts. 

Not that he was doing all that well in his classes. But it wasn't all his fault! His wand didn't always do what he wanted! "My wand hates me," he unintentionally muttered the seeming non-sequitor aloud. He rolled over onto his side and stared morosely at the darkness provided by the heavy drapes of the four poster. Darkness and privacy. Thank goodness for that. If he had to share a room with these other boys at least the drapery that decorated each bed did allow a certain semblance of privacy. One could almost pretend it afforded protection as well. Maybe his new wand would make things better. Maybe then his father wouldn't hate him so much.   
  
Saturday morning found most of the youngest children eager to play and consequently up as early as if for a day of classes. Fifth years and Seventh years tended to use the time to prepare for their OWLS and NEWTS. Everyone third year and above spent at least a little of their free time studying. Second years scoffed at their elders and simply played. First years, however, were still coping with being away from home for the first time. 

Some of these youngest students had no problems with the new environment. A few were so homesick they wept almost the entire first week. Most fell somewhere in between. Octavius was glad to be away from his father, but Hogwarts was not a utopia by any means. He'd not made any friends and until yesterday had had to cope with a wand that Mr Ollivander had proclaimed unsuitable. He hoped that now he would begin to excel in his coursework. Otherwise he might not make it to his next birthday. 

Early morning found the young Slytherin seated at his House table quietly dining on eggs and a half crumpet interspersed by frequent sips of pumpkin juice. The only others from his house were a pair of seventh years quietly testing each other on Charms Theory. Loud giggles caught his attention and he looked over toward the source -- the Potter twins, heads bent together in some private conspiracy. He sighed and went back to spearing scrambled eggs all but oblivious to his surroundings until a shadow fell over his plate. He jerked abruptly, flinging cold scrambled eggs over the table. 

"I didn't mean to startle you Mr Lestrange." Mr Potter's voice came softly from off to his other side. "Do you mind if I sit for a moment?" 

Octavius shrugged. There was, at this moment, no one else at the Slytherin table though the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables were becoming quite well populated. "As you wish, sir." 

Potter slid gracefully in place next to the small boy. "Octavius, I'd like to talk to you about your dreams, if I might. Not here, not now," he hastened to assure before the boy could react. But perhaps later this afternoon. I've appointments with other children all morning." 

"If you wish, sir." 

"Please. Come to my office directly after lunch, then." 

Octavius spent the morning reading and practicing using his new wand, remaining hidden in the dormitory. His dorm mates were all much to engrossed in enjoying the fading good weather by playing or studying outdoors. But when he was grudgingly invited he declined. It didn't suit him; he didn't think his father would approve; he was afraid all that would happen was that he'd do something to make everyone laugh at him. And finally, he was certain the other boy was just being polite and didn't really want him to join them. 

He held the slim black wand in his palm and caressed it with gentle care, thinking how one day it might take on the polish of use. He imagined that he might be grown and this most personal of instruments would shimmer from being rubbed to a fine polish. 

He sighed and practiced the motions and incantation designed to levitate a feather. 

Quite to his surprise, at his command the feather floated up towards the ceiling and hung there. He felt the magic focus and flow according to his will. He sensed when a charm or spell would not work and he sensed when what he was doing was just so correct and after a while he wasn't surprised when the results were exactly as expected because suddenly he could feel it! 

It wasn't him that was useless!   
  
That afternoon, he went to Mr Potter's office in the throes of an emotion he'd never had before. Elation, though he didn't know it, of course. He only knew that _his magic worked!_ And he was aching to proclaim it to someone who wouldn't ridicule him. 

When Harry Potter opened the door, he was greeted by something no one had ever seen before. Octavius Lestrange was smiling. almost grinning. Harry quirked both eyebrows. "Well! What's this?" 

"My new wand, sir. It doesn't hate me! I can control my magic!" 

Harry grinned. "Brilliant! And isn't that exactly what I predicted?" He ushered the boy inside. 

"Yes sir! I wish my father could see, I know he'd not ha-- he'd be ..." The boy grimaced. "Actually, I don't think he'd be very pleased, after all." He sighed and slumped into the chair across from Harry's desk. 

"Why is that, Octavius?" 

"It's not the wand he gave me." 

"Doesn't matter. You heard Mr Ollivander. That wand was not suitable." 

"I suppose the important thing is that I won't fail." 

Harry nodded, watching the wheels turn in the youngster's head. 

"What did you want to see me about, sir?" It was the boy who got them back on track. 

"Octavius, I think... I think I might know who it is you are seeing in your dreams. If I show you some pictures, do you think you might recognize him?" 

"Yes... Maybe." 

Harry hesitated but then handed over a Hogwarts yearbook opened already to some chosen page. One of the pictures featured a posed picture of Slytherin First Years. "Do you see him here?" 

Octavius frowned then after a moment pointed to a scowling boy half hidden behind wind blown locks he kept trying to keep hanging over his face. He looked up at the Counselor and was quite shocked to see his face twisted in a grimace that reminded him of someone in silent pain.   



	13. Sunday

Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

** To Life Again **

Sunday 

* * *

"Is it something bad?" Octavius asked hesitantly. 

"No. No, it isn't Octavius. It's just... quite the surprise, actually." 

Octavius flipped the cover closed over his hand on the page with the dark haired, hook-nosed boy. "Nineteen seventy-two." He read dispassionately. "Are you in here too?" 

Harry barked a laugh at the unexpected question. "No, but my dad is." 

Octavius nodded and quickly reduced the age he thought Mr Potter might be. But he went back to a more nagging question. "Who is this boy, then?" 

"Someone who died before you were born. A very troubled man, Octavius. Like you, he had an unhappy childhood." 

The boy scowled. He'd never admitted any such thing. "How can I be dreaming of him? Is he a ghost?" 

"No." Harry shook his head. "No, he isn't a ghost. He's not even related to you -- at least not so far as I know. Certainly not closely." Harry looked away from the boy for a moment, his own features thoughtful. 

"Why am I dreaming of him? Why did he show himself in the middle of Divination?!" 

"Excellent questions that I'm not positive I can answer." 

The boy regarding him silently, his small arms crossing his chest in that oh so familiar way. Harry sighed. 

"All right, I have a theory but I need to do some research first." 

"There's a connection between this boy and me." 

"I think so." 

"But he's dead." 

"Quite so." 

Octavius gazed up at the Counselor with a thoughtful expression. "Well, he's the one who cried. Not me. I don't cry. I'm too big and besides... It's the boy." 

"I understand that. But the boy is not the important one here. The boy grew up, lived his life and died. You are the important one now." 

But the child's eyes were narrowed in thought and he clearly did not find much comfort in the Counselor's words. "What's his name?" 

"Severus. Severus Snape." 

Octavius nodded.   
  
--   
  
Sunday arrived with typical reluctance. Who wants to force themselves out of bed when there are no classes or worse, no Hogsmeade trips! But slowly the residents of Hogwarts School made their way down to breakfast until not a single bed was occupied. Sunday also saw the arrival, about mid-morning, of Mr Ollivander. He strode up to the great oak doors and knocked quite heartily for one as frail in appearance as he was. 

It was Harry Potter who greeted the elderly wizard as he had been awaiting the old man's arrival since his own breakfast. "Good morning Mr Ollivander!" Harry stepped aside and made a welcoming gesture, inviting the man inside. 

"Good day to you, young Harry." The old man replied in a surprisingly strong voice. "I hope you've not let that boy handle that wand since he now has a more appropriate one." 

"Absolutely not. Your warning was quite clear. Minerva has the wand in her office." 

Ollivander nodded and gestured for Harry to lead the way. Although both men knew the elder wizard could have found his way on his own, he lacked that all important password. Old Albus Dumbledore had often favored sweets. The present Headmistress, though well known for her role as Head of House of Gryffindor for a generation past, had not revealed a common thread when deciding upon the passwords to her private rooms and office. Moreover, she was fond of changing them fortnightly. 

"Snitch," Harry recited to the waiting gargoyle that had never done its duty as a rainspout but was quite adept at moving aside and opening the doorway to the magical spiral staircase leading up to the Headmistress' suite. 

McGonagall rose as the door to her office opened. As with her predecessor's this office was also home to many portraits of previous headmasters, including Albus Dumbledore himself! Most of the other portraits were snoozing contentedly, but Dumbledore was quite embroiled in studying the workings of some fantastical medieval mechanical disaster of ornate gears and wheels. He looked up from his work to wave at the visitors before popping some sweet into his mouth and returning to his study. "Will you take tea, gentlemen?" The Headmistress offered as her two visitors settled into the comfortable chairs opposite her desk. 

"Most kind of you," Ollivander accepted the offer while Harry simply nodded. A moment later, a tea cosy covered pot and 3 matched china cups and saucers appeared along with approppriate accoutrements. 

As soon as the master wand maker was comfortable the Headmistress opened a drawer in her desk and retrieved the wand now wrapped in a scrap of muslin. "Here it is. Certainly not the same as the day it was purchased, I'll wager." 

"Indeed not," the wandmaker agreed. He took another sip of tea then set down his cup and saucer on a side table and leaned toward McGonagall to accept the wand. He unwrapped it carefully, muttering softly words that might have been incantations or merely soothing sounds for all that either of his audience could hear. Once or twice he gave the thing a dismissive swish. The second time he emitted a satisfied seeming, "aha!" He took time to peer at every milimeter of its length; he spun it between his fingers. He hummed and muttered some more and then he frowned and looked up at the interested gazes of his hosts. "I'll not bother with any _Priori Incantata _ unless you wish it. I can assure you this wand has been sorely ill used. The poor thing has been passed from master to mistress to master so many times and used for so much Dark magic it is almost a wonder the boy hasn't accidently killed anyone yet." He frowned and stroked the artifact tenderly. "Poor thing, not at all the wand that found young Rodolphus Lestrange all those years ago," he was almost cooing. 

"It may have to be done. The other owners were Rodolphus' own children," Minerva said sternly, "all of whom we fear have met tragic and untimely ends." 

Ollivander looked up at this revelation, his eyebrows lurched high on his forehead. "Dark magic and dead children," he muttered. "The Lestrange family has always been a bit... touched. Well. At least make sure this wand does not find another owner. It is useless for anything but the Darkest of the Dark Arts now." 

Potter and McGonagall shared looks of equal horror as the worst possible thoughts occurred to them both. "Thank you Mr Ollivander. Is there anything else we should know?" 

The elderly craftsman shook his head. "Nothing more." He finished his tea and rose. "Now, I really must be on my way." he rose then hesitated and seemed to wrestle with his thoughts. 

A decision was made and he peered into the Headmistress' eyes and spoke in a husky voice, "Though I shudder at the idea, I think it the only possible end. This wand must be broken." Then he turned away and exited, Harry close at his heels to see him properly on his way. 

Minerva sat motionless at her desk, thoughts churning and bringing a frown to her face. She looked up at Albus' portrait and he in turn peered down at his replacement. "I really do wish you weren't dead, Albus. I miss you." 

"Oh my dear. I never told you just how fond of you I am." 

Harry closed the great door after the wandmaker and sighed. They had learned nothing unexpected, but disheartening nonetheless. He didn't want to be alone and even though the castle was filled with children, it was Ginny he needed to find. And indeed he found her in their sitting room, at her desk grading papers. She turned at his entrance and smiled warmly, but the look on his face prompted her to rise quickly and wrap him in a wholehearted embrace. "It was so terribly awful?" 

"Nothing I didn't expect really. But that certainly doesn't cheer me." He kissed the tip of her nose. 

"Maybe Hermoine will come up with something." 

"I didn't mean to take you from your grading." He held her tight though. 

"This is far more fun," Ginny murmured, tickling his ear.   
  
--   
  
Octavius spent his Sunday in the library. At first merely to finish the essays he'd been assigned. But he found it almost impossible to concentrate when every other thought went back to the boy in his dreams and the man in his vision. 

But he had a name, didn't he? And a year. Severus Snape. At Hogwarts at least in nineteen seventy-two. Who was this wizard and why was he appearing to Octavius? 


	14. Severus Snape

Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

** To Life Again **

Severus Snape 

* * *

A scowling boy standing at the edge of the posed photograph did his best to hide behind the swirling curtain of midnight dark hair. A first year like himself and apparently sharing the same reluctance at being in the public eye._"Severus Snape,"_ Octavius pronounced the name again. He looked carefully but found no other images of the camera shy boy in the yearbook. He shoved the yearbook back into its place on the shelf and scanned the spines of others nearby up to what should have been the Snape boy's final year. But young Mr Snape had been more successful at being the recluse as not a single image of him appeared anywhere. Nor was anything written about him. Only his name appeared in the alphabetical listing (by House) of graduates to assure Octavius that the boy had finished his schooling. 

Octavius sighed at this obstacle. Who was this Severus Snape and what had he to do with Octavius? Mr Potter had confirmed that he had died. Rather young then, given the natural lifespan of a wizard ('allowed to reach maturity' was tacked on rather automatically if not wryly). It was at that moment that Octavius noticed the chill that was settling in around him. He looked up to see the slender, somber ghost that belonged to Slytherin House. "Good evening Baron," he recited politely although not really expecting any answer. 

The Baron was studying him with his shrewd gaze, but he nodded politely back all the same. 

Octavius sat motionless and with his own curious intensity observed the Bloody Baron in turn. 

"If it is history you seek, then I'd advise you turn to _Hogwarts: A History,"_ The Baron finally pronounced solemnly. Then he turned away and floated through the stacks and out of sight. The chill left with him and Octavius knew the ghost had left the library. 

Octavius Lestrange was not a dunderhead. He knew a clue when it fell on his lap. Immediately he returned the less than helpful yearbook to its place and went looking for the recommended text instead.   
  
--   
  
Harry Potter took a long sip of the butterbeer, waiting for Hermione to get her notes in order. Or was she hesitant about revealing the results of her research? The pub was neither empty nor overfilled. It was just another Sunday in Hogsmeade, a day for relaxing with friends after sleeping in. Only Hermione wasn't looking very relaxed. She was looking very much as she had as a student activist raging against the injustices against house-elves. It was more disturbing now, because she was a mature adult who didn't rage against windmills any longer. This dangerous expression she now wore meant something horribly disturbing had been uncovered. At last she looked into his face and reschooled her expression to one that was no less solemn, but rather less rabid. 

"It's horrible." She started off in the middle it seemed. "You're right, he murdered them all! All of this..." a wave of her hand indicated the parchments and clippings strewn about the tabletop. Her voice broke. "Look at all this! It's surely evidence but no one bothered..." She shoved a pile of photos toward him but when he reached to take them up, her hand clamped down on his. "They're not... They're horrible." She released him then and looked away. 

Harry said nothing but went through the photos with mounting disgust and stiffening resolve. He felt the blood drain from his face at only the second image. He felt his throat tighten and his stomach clench at the fourth and fifth images. It didn't get any better, but he made himself look at every single picture and was grateful they were not the usual moving wizard photos. Until one of them showed the mediwitch's arm moving past. There were none of Octavius. 

"That's only three of his children, Harry. At some point he stopped taking them to any reputable healer." It was almost as if Hermione had read his mind. 

"What about the deaths?" Harry asked, his voice barely coordinated enough to be understandable. 

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing more than what we already have. But I'm hoping that just by virtue of having lost all seven children, we can make a case for ineptitude. There'd be no justice, but the child would be removed from Lestrange's hands." 

"It's not enough, Hermoine. I agree we can settle for that, but we must ask for more at the start or we could lose completely. Then the old man will be free to do whatever he wants. Or they'll simply assign a ministry worker to keep an eye on things. You know how that will go. The boy will be in as much danger as ever." 

"Harry, we don't have too many options. I am thinking that you, Poppy, and Minerva bring a suit on the boy's behalf based on what you and Poppy have discovered." 

"I can't talk about anything Octavius has told me in confidence, Hermione." 

"I know that. But you can talk about your conclusions based on your conversations with him, can't you?" 

"Yes, I can do that." 

"I am going to try to find out more. The children were all cremated." 

"Why can't we use Veritaserum and just ask him what he did to his children?" 

"Veritaserum is not used in civil cases. This is a civil case, Harry, not a criminal one." her face scrunched up in annoyance at the limitations they were under. "We aren't trying to send Lestrange to Azkaban. We are trying to remove his son from his control."   
  
--   
  
The latest edition of _Hogwarts: A History_ contained a great deal about the last war. So much of that war involved the school and its students and faculty that there was no way one could be separated from the other. It was fascinating. Made even more so because the main hero of the tale was their very own Counselor, Harry Potter! But he was not the only hero, by any means, and not even the only one from the school. But there was not a lot of detail. Except it had been Harry Potter who had finally felled the Dark Lord. But that wasn't what he was looking for. 

Octavius turned to the index and simply searched for "Snape, Severus." He found the page number for his entry, turned to it and began to read the short and emotionless entry. He learned only that Severus Snape was an unpopular teacher but still a hero of the Last Battle. The entry also made claim that the teacher had been both a Death Eater and a spy for Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. There was nothing about the man himself. It was one of the shortest and least informative entries in the whole book. 

A spy! How exciting! How dangerous! Octavius shivered as he imagined himself spying on his father's dealings with the well dressed visitors he sometimes received. He imagined himself getting caught. Then he imagined what his father would do to him and he shivered as if a sudden chill had overtaken him. He choked back a sob and shoved the book back into its place on the shelf. It was several minutes before he trusted himself to emerge from the aisle. Despite the fact that it was a pleasant Sunday afternoon, he was not the only visitor to the library and he most certainly did not want to be seen in this despicably weak state.

At last, his aloof mask firmly in place, he went to retrieve his textbooks, quills, and parchment and depart the quiet collection of books and students. without really thinking about it, he let his feet carry him to Mr Potter's office and it quite surprised him to find himself there. But of course the man wasn't there. It was Sunday after all; the teachers did not spend all of their time in their offices. Certainly they had better things to do with their weekends than hang about their offices if they didn't have to. 

Octavius turned away somewhat disappointed nonetheless. And turning, brought him face to face with one of the many narrow turret windows that graced the ancient castle. Curious, he stepped closer. Which window was this? Which lawn or courtyard was overlooked? 

The answer came quickly. The Lake. Far, far down. What a dive it would be. He'd probably be splattered all over the lake bottom assuming he managed to avoid being dashed against the cliff side. He wondered what it would be like to throw himself from the castle. Would it be like flying without a broom? 

No. More likely it would be like being thrown down from the third floor balcony at home. It was an experience to which his father had introduced him more times than he cared to consider. Painful and not a bit alluring. Falling was definitely not flying. 

And anyway, even if he lived to splash into the water, he couldn't swim. Why'd it have to look so beautiful? He turned away and trudged back to the Slytherin common room. 

It was already occupied by a half dozen seventh years quietly studying for their N.E.W.Ts. He found an unclaimed corner and settled in to try to attempt Professor Weasley-Potter's reading assignment. Only one of the older students bothered to note his presence. But as a first year, he was almost assured to be ignored. 

So, indeed, he was and he was therefore able to finally make some headway in his reading. It helped that the text was actually interestingly written. so much so that he'd have never noticed that time had passed except that his stomach rumbled to remind him that he hadn't dined recently and it was long past time to replenish his nonexistent reserves. 

It was that insistent. 

Octavius dumped his schoolwork on his bed but picked up the Transfiguration text to take with to dinner. He preferred to avoid conversing with anyone and hiding behind a book was a good way to get what he wanted. He climbed the stair from the dungeons and joined the gathering students in the large foyer as everyone flowed instinctively to supper in the Great Hall. There was laughter and conversation, some of it between people of different houses. There were the Weasley twins, a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor, discussing something that had both girls giggling behind their hands. He halted in mid-step and stared. 

Someone jostled his arm. "Pervert. Stop eyeing my sister," a youthful voice snarled its warning. 

He jerked his head around toward the voice, his hand reaching for his wand but stopping just in time to avoid being observed by the passing figure of a professor. He exchanged glares with Sirius John Potter then turned abruptly and strode off to the Slytherin table, laughter ringing in his ears. 

He hurried through the meal, keeping his head down and avoiding conversation as he scarfed down a small helping of the main course and its accompanying vegetables. Constant sips of water kept him from developing the hiccoughs as he rushed through the meal. Just as he was about to push away from the table, a hand came down on his shoulder, startling him. He almost jumped away but the girl, the Ravenclaw Potter Twin. 

"Ignore my brother." She said with a grin. "He's an idiot." She swung a leg over the bench and sat down beside him, her hand sliding off his shoulder as she moved. He decided she was probably the most graceful creature alive. 

"He's a Gryffindor. I don't have anything to do with him." 

The older girl laughed. "How about Ravenclaws?" 

Octavius shrugged. "Why are you here?" 

"Honestly?" Now it was the Ravenclaw who shrugged. It was a dismissive but ever so poutingly pretty gesture. "I'm trying to rile Siri. He's ever so much fun to tease! He bites every time!" 

"What about all that rot about being kind to others?" 

"I have to tease him," she replied with mock severity. "It's my job." 

"Oh no it is not, Frederika," the slightly amused voice of her next youngest brother disagreed from behind them. 

"I have to go now." Octavius decided this was a game he was certain he did not want to be any part of. 

"Good idea, except that it's my sister who should be leaving the Slytherin Table." 

"Arthur, you are such a fish." But she got up anyway before any of the Slytherins could get into the act. "Bye, kid," she said to Octavius. 

An older Slytherin whose name he didn't recall leaned over to whisper, "She's not a bad sort, but she's a merciless tease." 

Octavius merely nodded his thanks and made his escape.   
  
--   
  
Faint laughter roused Octavius from his study of the ancient tapestry that graced the length of the hall. The Potters were coming at last. He straightened his clothing and ran a hand through his hair and hoped he was presentable enough. The couple turned the corner just as the boy stiffened his back to greet them with the proper formality. 

"Good evening Professor Weasley-Potter and Mr Potter," he intoned. 

"Mr Lestrange. What brings you here?" The ginger-red haired professor asked. He studied her expression but there were no clues there. 

"Did you know Severus Snape?" 

"What?" That caught her unprepared and she turned an accusing glare at her husband. 

Harry only smiled serenely. "Yes, we both did, but not well. You understand he was already a professor when we came here as students." 

"Harry..." Ginny said warningly. 

"Ginny. Octavius? May I tell her?" 

Octavius shrugged. "He's the Little Boy in my dream. It isn't me. It's him." 

"How? Why?" 

"I don't know," Harry replied, but there was some doubt in his eyes though it was only Ginny who recognized it. "Would you like to come in for some tea, Octavius? We can discuss this inside." 

"Yes, thank you." Relief flooded the young voice. 

Ginny went to prepare the tea, giving the boy a chance to become comfortable invading his professors' sitting room. Harry smiled and gestured for the boy to take a seat in one of the thickly upholstered wing chairs. He seemed almost to get lost in it, his feet dangling above the floor, his arms spread wide to grace the rolled wings of the chair. 

"I found him in _Hogwarts: A History._ The Bloody Baron told me to look there. But really it didn't say much. Except he was a spy and died heroically." 

"He did indeed, Octavius." 

"I know from my dreams that as a little boy he was... unhappy. And scared a lot. The book said he was 'an unpopular teacher.' " It was a quote. 

"He really wasn't meant to be a teacher of young children. He didn't have the patience for it and ..." But he didn't go any further. 

"Was he a bad man, sir?" 

"He wasn't always very nice to talk to, but he had his principles and his honor." At this point Ginny returned with the tea. She served it and left without a word. This was between the child and the Counselor. 

Octavius sipped his tea, waiting til he was sure the professor was not listening in. "What has he to do with me, sir?" 

"I wish I knew. I... I can only make wild guesses and I'd rather not. But I am certain there is no ill intent, Octavius." 

The boy nodded. "I know that, sir." 

"Why do you think you dream about him?" 

"Because sometimes I make my father mad and he... punishes me and the Little Boy is sad about that because it reminds him of his own father." 

"Octavius, you know I think that what your father does is wrong." 

"Yes sir." 

"Do you think he is right to punish you as he does?" 

"I... I don't know, sir." 

Harry exhaled slowly. It was something. 


	15. Choices

Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

** To Life Again **

Choices 

* * *

Octavius left the Potter's with at least as many questions as he'd come with. But these questions were about him, a boy living now, not Severus Snape, a boy then a man and now dead. They were questions Mr Potter kept asking him. They were questions that were tilting the ground out from under him. He went straight to bed, ignoring his dorm mates as usual as they ignored him. He pulled the drapes around his bed, sealing himself in and away from the outside world. Sleep came quickly despite his torrential thinking. 

He found The Boy under the table again. His parent's screaming formed a solid background to their quiet meeting. He gathered the smaller child in his arms and held him until his rocking back and forth slowed and then finally ceased altogether. "I'm sorry it's too late," he whispered. 

The boy disappeared and with him the whole scene. Now there was silence and a tall boy sat beside him. The boy stared out into an unfathomable distance, saying nothing. Octavius sat in equal silence. They were waiting though he knew not for what. He looked out as well and seeing nothing that he could recognize, he turned his gaze back to the boy. Their eyes locked and the boy rose to his feet, growing even taller, even older. He was a man. His features were hidden behind a veil of long black hair. "It is not too late." The man's deep voice rasped softly. 

Octavius woke with a start, sitting up abruptly. Tears welled in his eyes and his breath would not come. In a panic, he threw off his covers and ran stumbling from his dorm room. Without seeing, he ran through the common room, out into the darkness of the midnight Hogwarts halls. He ran blindly, ignorant of the denizens that might find him and uncaring. He ran and ran until he found himself back at the Potter's door. He pounded on the door. But then exhaustion and though caught up with him and he simply sank to the floor and sobbed in confusion. 

He didn't hear the door creak open nor the voice that whispered into his ear. He didn't even feel the arms that gathered him up and carried him inside. Only when a fleecy warm blanket was pulled around his shoulders did the change in his surroundings pierce the his confused awareness. He managed to quell the sobs and blink back sight. Professor Weasley Potter was kneeling in front of him holding a steaming mug in both her hands. 

"He's back with us." Mr Potter's voice said from beside him. He turned to look and saw the man's worried face brighten with a relieved smile. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered back, shuddering. 

"What happened, Octavius?" The adult wizard's warmth eased through his weakened defenses. 

"He said it's not too late." 

"What?" "Who?" Both adults looked confused. 

"The Boy. Severus. He said it's not too late." 

A grimace washed quickly over Professor Weasley Potter's features but was gone an instant later and she gently pushed the mug into the boy's hands. "I think you could do with a spot of hot cocoa, Octavius," she insisted. 

But the child was still shaking and Mr Potter had to help him hold the mug steady. After allowing him to drink a few calming sips of the rich warm drink, the Counselor prodded gently, "You dreamt of Severus, again." 

Octavius nodded. "He was very little, beneath the big table and his parents were screaming. I sat with him and after a while they went away and he grew up." 

"You said he told you that it wasn't too late. Too late for what, Octavius?" 

"I don't know, I don't know! The little boy was hurt and I couldn't help him. Oh!" The young wizard was hit with sudden understanding. "I remembered that he was dead already and I told him that I was sorry because he was already dead and so I said that. I said 'I'm sorry it's too late,' because he was dead already and I couldn't help him. That's when he grew up and told me that it wasn't too late. He meant it wasn't too late for me." The boy stopped to breathe. 

The Potters exchanged meaningful glances over his head that he didn't notice. 

"I don't want to be hurt any more." 

Ginny stifled a sob. 

Harry looked into the child's eyes, restraining himself from gathering the boy into a hug that he might not be able to handle. "I don't want you to hurt either." He took a deep breath to calm himself and continued. "It's very late, Octavius, and we absolutely need to talk more about this. But for now, I think you should try to go to sleep." 

"I think he might stay the night here." Ginny managed a firmness that would tolerate no argument. "I'll transfigure the couch into a nice bed for you, dear." 

"And we'll talk tomorrow." Harry added. 

Octavius nodded and was asleep even before he could finish the cocoa. The adults tucked him in without his conscious knowledge of it, but his subconscious reveled in the kindness.   
  
----   
  
Octavius woke in the unfamiliar room, to a hushed bustle of a couple preparing for their day. "Good morning, Octavius." Professor Weasley-Potter greeted with a smile. "Did you sleep well?" She was already dressed in salmon colored robes, a hint of the same color on her lips. 

Octavius sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to hide the flush of embarrassment at his behavior the night before. "Thank you ma'am, yes. I'm not late am I?" He dreaded the thought of returning to his dorm in night clothes while everyone else was dressed and heading for breakfast already. 

"Not at all. Mr Potter will escort you back, however, as running around the castle in one's nightclothes is frowned upon. We wouldn't want some overzealous Prefect to catch you about and give you an unwarranted detention." 

"No Professor." He agreed. 

Mr Potter emerged from an inner room with slippers and a robe in hand and a smile on his face. "Good morning Mr Lestrange." He greeted with formal words but a cheerful tone. "Last night you came running up here with nothing on your feet and no robe. You can use these. They were Arthur's and then Siri's but they've both outgrown them." 

Octavius took the robe and shrugged it on, immediately amazed by its cozy warmth. "Is it charmed?" 

Harry grinned. "I wish I could take credit for that and say 'yes.' But it's not. It's fleece, a very warming material." His grinned broadened when the boy unconsciously stroked the soft fabric. "Don't forget the slippers. They're lined with fleece. You may as well keep them. We've no more use for them." 

Octavius gasped. "Really? Oh, sir! Thank you!" He was practically gushing. 

"Let's go then. See you at breakfast, Ginny!" Harry called as he guided the young student to the door. 

The pair walked in silence. As predicted, it was still too early for all but the most harried Ravenclaw to be up and around. And it was still too early in the year even for Ravenclaw panic. Harry was the first to speak. "You come see me during your break, Octavius. We need to talk about last night." 

"Yes sir." It was clear from the uncertain tone that the boy was having second thoughts. 

Harry hoped they could get past those this day, but he wasn't going to count on it and he was determined not to show any disappointment should the worst come to pass and the boy backed out. Sooner or later, he'd come round. Better sooner rather than later though. He left the boy outside the Slytherin Common Room, not intending to embarrass him by walking inside with him. He gave the boy's shoulder a pat. "We will get you though this, Octavius." He all but promised. 

Octavius nodded without looking up at the man. He gave the password and entered the common room, pausing on the threshold to thank the older wizard. He left it to him to understand what his thanks were for. He blushed again and hurried inside and immediately got ready for breakfast and classes. 

It seemed none of his roommates had any idea he'd not spent the entire night there. One of them woke when he entered but merely growled in annoyance as he realized it was time to rise anyway. Octavius had not made friends with any of the boys in his dorm, so he went down to breakfast as soon as he was ready, not bothering to wait for anyone. Aside from a few teachers and early risers the Great Hall was nearly empty. He sat near the end of the Slytherin table and pulled out a book to read while he waited for breakfast to appear. 

He was well enmeshed in his reading when a solid whack thumped the back of his head. Startled, he jumped up out of his seat and spun to face his attacker. 

There was no one there. 

Or... 

He looked around, eyes narrowed. Yes. There, heading nonchalantly towards the Gryffindor table, were the culprits. Stuart Finnigan and Sirius John Potter were all but giggling, their heads bent towards one another in a way that Octavius easily interpreted as 'conspiratorial.' He felt his anger surge, a rising swirl of boiling anger. 

And then he remembered the talk with Mr Potter and his Head of House, not to mention the beatings from his father. He had to control his anger. He shut his eyes, concentrating on feeling the raw power surging through his veins. He concentrated on not unleashing it against undeserving students, but rather only to the pair who walked away from him, laughing at him! 

No spell was spoken, but he thought of retribution, he imagined his anger directed like a chilling bucket of ice water -- 

A shriek interrupted his thoughts. He staggered and swayed, falling backwards against the Slytherin table, while laughter and yelling assaulted his senses. He opened his eyes and saw a bedraggled and shivering pair of confused Gryffindors glaring at their own friends now laughing at them. Another, older, red headed boy looked less than happy as he shook his head at them. 

Was this what his father had meant? 


	16. A Wall Falls

Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

** To Life Again **

A Wall Falls 

* * *

Octavius' classes passed uneventfully. He paid rapt attention to everything his teacher's said and took copious notes. He bothered no one and they left him alone as well. When it was time for break, no one asked him where he was going when he headed to Mr Potter's office. Wrapped up in so many thoughts, he was unprepared when, part way down the corridor, three boys leaped out of a classroom and blocked his way. 

He recognized these three Gryffindor boys at once and knew right away this confrontation wasn't going to go well for him. He fixed a scowl on his face in a hopeful attempt to intimidate the Finnigan twins and Sirius Potter. 

Raucous laughter greeted his attempt. "Oi, that's pathetic," the freckled twin, Sean, managed between guffaws. 

"The Hat finally made a mistake. This bloke's in the wrong house!" Added his twin, Stuart. 

The third boy grinned broadly. "Let's make sure he gets to the right House, then, shall we?" 

"Hufflepuff!" The three shouted gleefully. 

Octavius surreptitiously began to draw out his wand. 

"No wait, mate. I don't think he'd fit there either. They're a friendly lot and this bloke's not friendly at all," Stuart said thoughtfully, his grin broadening. 

"Let me pass." Octavius ordered coldly. 

"Or what?" Sirius prodded. 

"Or I shall--" He cut himself off. He'd get in trouble for fighting and he had no doubt he'd be caught. "Nothing. Absolutely, nothing. It's just that would be the civilized thing to do." 

Three high pitched whistles answered that. 

"Posh, ain't he," Stuart observed. 

"Decidedly," Sean responded. 

"He doesn't look very posh." Sirius pointed out. 

"He doesn't look like much of anything, actually." Stuart said thoughtfully. 

Octavius sighed and still determined to avoid a fight, started backing away. 

Stuart's long arms shot out and grabbed him. "Oy, mate, where're you off to so suddenly?" 

"I think he doesn't appreciate our companionship," Sirius suggested. 

"See? Decidedly unfriendly." Sean agreed. 

"I think we owe it to the school to teach this boy how to be friendly. Don't you, mates?" Stuart's grip tightened as his brother and their friend nodded. 

"Let go!" Octavius struggled, twisting himself side to side, trying to wrench himself free of the now painful hold. He growled and no longer concerned about trouble, tried to slip his wand into his hand. 

"Sirius!" A new voice, an older voice, broke his concentration. In fact all of them suddenly moved apart and looked toward the interloper. It was the older Potter son. 

"Arthur. What are you doing here?" Sirius' voice was just a tad shakier than normal. 

"Keeping you out of trouble, it looks like." He glared at his younger brother, hands on hips looking all the world like an irate minder. 

"We weren't doing anything," the younger Potter grumbled. His comrades wisely kept still. "Besides, you aren't a prefect. You can't take points or do anything, so sod off." 

"Fine." Arthur turned toward the small Slytherin. "Where are you headed?" 

"Mr Potter's office." 

"Great! I'll walk you. I'm headed in that direction myself." So saying, he patted Octavius' shoulder, prodding him forward gently. The three young Gryffindors moved aside to let them pass. 

"Traitor!" Sirius called to his brother's back. 

"Never mind mate," Stuart said "He won't have a nanny to hide behind all the time. 

Octavius followed the lead of the older boy, but stiffened at the insults as they walked calmly down the hall. He looked up at the red-head. "Why?" He did not quite know how else to start. 

Arthur grinned down at him. "My brother can be such a git, sometimes, can't he?" 

Octavius hesitated. Then nodded. "Yes. He can be. All three of them!" The last was mumbled with barely repressed vehemence. 

"Hm," Arthur replied thoughtfully. He came to a halt and grabbed the younger boy's arm, bringing him to a halt as well. "I think my brother is jealous." 

"Of me?! Surely not." 

But Arthur was nodding. "He's the youngest, you see. Been babied by the twins and both mum and da." 

"What has that to do with me?!" The question was asked exasperatedly. 

"Well, our father seems to have taken some interest in you. He took you out of school to get a wand. He's never done that before." 

Octavius frowned. "Perhaps, then, your brother will leave me alone if I have nothing more to do with your father?" 

Arthur shook his head. "Too late for that. Besides, there's still the Finnigans and I haven't any idea what's up their --" 

"Arthur! Octavius!" Harry Potter's voice interrupted their conversation as the man came striding down the hall. "Octavius, I was expecting you some time ago." 

"I'm sorry sir. I -- erm -- I was -- erm--" 

"Sirius and the Finnigans stopped him on the way, Da." 

"I see." Harry paused for effect. "Anything you want to tell me about?" 

"No!" Octavius almost shouted out. Arthur merely shrugged. 

"Very well, then. Octavius, let's go to my office. Arthur, thank you for seeing him on his way." 

Man and boy proceeded along in an uncomfortable silence that was broken only by the normal sounds of footsteps and then Mr Potter's office door opening and closing. "Octavius, please sit." 

"I didn't hex anyone this time." The undersized student offered. 

Harry nodded. "I noticed. You should excellent restraint." 

But rather than being mollified, this earned only a guilt-ridden wince from the boy in response. Harry pretended not to notice. 

"Well, Octavius --" 

"Sir, I changed my mind, I don't want to talk about it. I want to return the things you lent me, I don't really need them. It's my fault, I forgot to pack everything I needed--" The words were coming in a sudden desperate flood. 

"No, Octavius." Harry shook his head as he disagreed softly. "We both know better than that." 

"I don't want them, then. I don't need Sirius Potter's castoffs!" 

Harry sat back in his chair and said nothing. 

"Do you hear me? I don't need anything from you!" But the child's voice broke and he didn't even sound convincing to himself. 

"Octavius, what happened?" 

"Nothing." 

"You're a bit overwrought for 'nothing' young man." 

Octavius shrugged. 

"Just because I am Sirius' father does not mean I will ignore his bad behavior." 

Octavius felt his cheeks burn. "No one hurt me." 

"Octavius... Fine, we'll leave Sirius and the Finnigans out of this. But what about last night? Do you remember what you said?" 

The boy's cheeks burned hotter. "No. I didn't mean it. I don't want to do anything. Please. I've changed my mind. Everything is fine." The words stumbled over each other. Surely one of these would appease Mr Potter. "I... I want to go home," he finally whispered in a hoarse and confused voice. 

"Do you really? You want to go back to a man who beats you and locks you in a wardrobe and does other terrible things to you?" The Counselor's voice was hard and though it started low and quiet the question was a challenge practically yelled. Harry lifted the boy's face so that their eyes met. "No one should want that, Octavius," he whispered huskily. "No one deserves that." 

"I... I don't know." The boy tried to break eye contact but somehow the older wizard's gaze had trapped him. 

"Do you remember what Severus told you? What did he say?" 

"He said that it wasn't too late." 

"That's right. It isn't. But it will be soon. How long do you think it will be before your father kills you?" 

"He won't. I'll show him--" 

"Octavius, he might not even mean to but accidents happen." 

"No." 

"What about your sister? Wasn't that an accident?" 

"No... No. She wasn't good enough." 

"Are you good enough?" 

Tears fled the child's eyes. That was all the answer that would come. 

Harry rushed to the other side of his desk and gathered the child in his arms. He did not ask him to cease the tears. This was a flood he wanted to happen. This was a catharsis that needed to happen. But he did want the boy to learn that comfort and security were available. So he held the boy close and rocked him as the sobs came ever stronger and the terrible walls of isolation crumbled under the onslaught. 


	17. School Nights

Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

** To Life Again **

School Nights 

* * *

Octavius lay in his bed staring at the thick darkness afforded by the heavy drapes drawn closed for privacy. He heard without listening for, the soft sighs of his dorm mates' sleep. These did nothing to lull him, but neither were they keeping him awake. Confusion was doing that just fine by itself. He felt drained; exhausted by the cathartic outpouring of emotion earlier. He'd not gone back to his classes. Mr Potter had let him cry quietly, did not ask anything more of him, did not even make him study and he'd fallen asleep til a gentle hand roused him for dinner. Yet his thoughts would not now quiet enough to allow sleep's rest. He stared at the darkness and saw his father's contorted features warring with the Counselor's comforting ones. 

At last he saw another face. The Boy, grown into a hard featured, scowling man, in whose pain filled eyes Octavius recognized himself. 

_"Please, not again," _ a non-voice said. 

---- 

Arthur James Weasley Potter was not always a somber thirteen year old. But at the moment 'somber' was definitely a word that applied to the young man. Was it his place to say that his brother needed to grow up? Surely it should have been their parents who shoved him, however much kicking and screaming, towards adulthood. And what about the Finnigans? Surely their parents hadn't raised the those twins to be the bullies they were becoming. He sighed. All this thinking was taking up time he should have been spending on the essay Professor Lupin had assigned them. 

He became aware, with that thought, that he was almost alone in the library. Only a couple Ravenclaw seventh years were in sight, half hidden behind a towering pile of books, softly discussing something no doubt discovered in the texts. He sighed and stretched and thumped the book he'd not been reading closed. His concentration was nowhere to be found this evening. He returned the book to its place on the shelves and left the library. It was late enough that the first and second years were likely already in bed along with the majority of his own year. Arthur was not much of a sleeper. He'd found early in life that five or six hours was plenty to leave him rested, refreshed, and bored with laying about in bed. Now, the halls were mostly silent with only a few wandering older students to nod as they passed one another. 

He was nearly at the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room when the sound of his brother's voice stopped him. He turned but saw no one. He looked all about until he saw a somewhat darkened area behind one of the ubiquitous statues. It was from there the sound was carried to him. He moved closer to examine the shadowed wall as the voice of one of the Finnigan twins responded to Siri and all three laughed. 

Arthur found himself standing before a not well closed secret door. One that he'd never heard of but apparently Siri and the Finnigans had! And then the voices ceased altogether; a play of the acoustics as Arthur well knew. 

Abandoning his plans for the common room, he slipped into the hallway and stealthily padded towards his brother's voice. He heard no more of the boys' voices to guide him, though. Only silence wafted back to him and this quickly struck him as odd. Surely they could not have heard him. He was easily capable of being very quiet when he wanted to be. The silence invited him to be careless, but he was wise enough not to fall into such carelessness. He plodded onward, not failing to notice that the light which strayed from the main corridor was becoming more and more scarce. However it was something of a shock to be plunged into complete darkness when the path he was following bent suddenly to the right. 

He gasped and instinctively dropped back. He swallowed hard and could not help but hear his heartbeat pounding solidly. It took only a moment for the boy to calm himself. Then, rational thought once more at the forefront, he murmured a soft, _"Lumos"_ and the tip of his wand glowed faintly. Holding this makeshift torch aloft, Arthur pushed himself forward and resumed his trek. It was now more than merely a search for three wayward boys whose faint whispers had first drawn his attention. Now, he was curious. 

At some point -- Arthur failed to accurately note when or where -- the narrow hall had become little more than a stone walled tunnel. Perhaps he should have turned back, but he was determined to see this to the end. He reminded himself that he was certainly as brave as Siri! 

Of whose presence he had yet to see or hear any indication, by the way. The small voice of worry spoke out over the Gryffindor voice of courage. But he kept on, for worry was not one of his major personality traits and its shaky voice relented with the reminder that Sirius and the Finnigan twins had passed this way before him. 

He was rewarded at last when the tunnel finally disgorged him in the back of a cave. Unexpectedly, it was not pitch black at all and he hastily doused his wandlight, hoping he'd been quick enough that his light had gone unseen. A giggle somewhere ahead of him told him that he'd found the three other boys. He almost laughed out loud, thinking that Siri's wish for a pirate's treasure was the theme of this adventure. Nonetheless, they probably should not have been out here, even if it wasn't quite past curfew. 

But now he was faced with a terrible dilemma: should he confront the boys or ignore this unsanctioned foray? He couldn't go running to their father or their Head of House. He was no tattler! And it wasn't as if they were hurting anyone. Were they? He edged closer, hoping to hear their words more clearly. But all her heard were whispers and giggles and that was only enough to convince him to seek advice. He returned to the Gryffindor Common room and tried to pretend to read. 

---- 

The next afternoon after classes found three red-headed children sat together on a bench, their heads bent close in apparent quiet conference. The more studious of the twins was wearing a concerned frown and she absently twined her hair about a finger while the listening to her brother's tale. Her sister's face was less revealing, showing mild curiosity and some small amusement. 

"Well, that's it," Arthur finished. "I don't know what they were about, but I know they shouldn't have been out there." 

"If it was anyone else I'd say ignore it --" Frederika began. 

"Oh but as it's Sirius, let's make a big deal?" Georgina snorted. 

"Yes. Yes, actually. Are you _not_ paying attention? His behavior has been outrageous! He and those Finnigans. They were caught taunting a first year from my House for nothing more than that she had a lump on her nose." 

"Oh, so it's a House thing, then?" Georgina accused. 

"No, it's a Siri thing. He should have known better than that." 

"Oh come off your horse. He's always been a tease." 

"He's never been mean." 

"Well, what should we do?" Arthur broke up the impending argument with his very pertinent question. 

The twins exchanged apologetics looks. "Go to Professor Lupin. He is after all, your Head of House." Frederika advised with a sigh. 

Arthur nodded and left his sisters to the crisp late afternoon as he made to do just that. Professor Lupin was, as usual at this time of day, in his office working. He hovered uncertainly at the doorway. Maybe he's grading papers. Arthur thought that might be a good excuse not to bother the man. 

"Come in Arthur," the professor called congenially. He gestured to a seat beside his desk as he turned the top piece of parchment over on its face. "What's wrong?" He asked, settling back in his own chair. 

"Professor, I... I need some advice." The boy started hesitantly. 

"Yes, go on." 

"I saw something... someone... erm... I found a secret tunnel." 

"Ah. Which one?" 

"It's behind one of the statues on the way our common room. But erm... I wasn't the first. I heard voices so I followed them. It goes to a cave in the cliff." He looked up to see a faintly surprised expression on the professor's face. "I guess you didn't know about it?" 

"Indeed I did not." Surprisingly enough, the man thought to himself. But immediately realized the castle could easily have more secrets than he imagined. "But never mind that. What happened?" 

"Nothing. I followed them, they didn't see me, I came back." 

"I see. And?" 

"What should I do?" He hesitated. "They were first years. Our first years." He winced. 

"I'll take care of it, Arthur." Professor Lupin assured him with a firm but gentle voice and an encouraging pat on the shoulder. 

After dinner, Arthur showed the professor where the entranceway was and then, at the man's urging, left to go study in the library until it was time for bed. Professor Lupin, however, went exploring. He cast the Lumos spell and followed the shrinking tunnel til its finish at a large, wide mouthed cave. It was a clear night and he allowed a few moments (he couldn't really help himself) to appreciate the starry night hanging over the lake before taking a careful look around the cave itself. 

He was not terribly surprsied when he found a cache of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. He was, however, dismayed to find several items of a more provocative nature hidden even more deeply in the rifts and crevices. 


	18. Caught!

At last! Another chapter! I'll try to update more regularly Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

** To Life Again **

Caught! 

* * *

Remus was still pondering his options when scrabbling sounds of approaching students made the choice for him. He moved into the cover of a shadowy crevice and waited, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder leaning with feigned insouciance against the rock. 

"...bawled like a baby!" Stuart's voice was the first to become recognizable. His brother and Sirius' laughter answered. Then all three suddenly emerged into the cavern, late afternoon's golden light causing the boys to squint and blink and halt suddenly. 

"Ugh!" Sirius commented. 

"I want a cig," Stuart announced, squinting and trying to see well enough to find his way to their cache. 

"Oh don't. They stink." His brother admonished. 

"Don't be daft. They're _unctuous._" Sirius' use of this generation's slang for what used to be _cool_ would have made Remus smile in another situation. But at the moment he was finding nothing amusing in their behavior. 

"Maybe. But if Bobby counts 'em we're fried." Sean seemed to be the trio's unofficial worrier. And he hovered nervously behind his twin and Sirius as the two boys poked around and drew out what looked like a hand rolled cigarette. 

"Bobby's more likely to count the Muggle money than the rods, anyway." Stuart replied calmly as he lit one end with the tip of his faintly glowing wand. 

"Blimey! No wonder she shrieked," Sirius muttered with surprise in his voice. "It must have really hurt when you poked her with that." 

"She'll remember it then, won't she?" Stuart didn't seem to notice his brother and his friend trade looks of uncertainty. Instead he closed his eyes and bringing the peculiar cigarette to his mouth, inhaled deeply. He held the poisonous smoke in his lungs and then sighed, releasing it back into the air with studied slowness. 

Enough! Remus stepped out of his hiding place and slapped the cigarette from the boy's hand and stomped on it."No!" He stormed. "What do you think you are doing?" 

All three boys shrieked and jumped backward. The open duffel fell over and spilled out its contents: more hand rolled cigarettes, wads of Muggle money. And a Muggle firearm. 

Sirius gasped in shock at that. 

"It's not ours!" Sean screamed out in panic. 

"No? Then why are you rifling through it?" 

"We're holdin' it." Stuart had regained enough of his composure to reply. 

"For whom?" 

"Our Uncle Bobby." 

"Only he isn't really our uncle, he's a cousin, but a lot older." Sean supplied anxiously. "Are we in trouble?" 

"Oh yes, young man. You are indeed in trouble. But I'll bet your 'uncle' is in a lot more trouble." Remus stopped himself and took a deep breath. "Look, I don't care about your uncle - or cousin or whatever he is. I care about you. I know your fathers and I'm surprised at all three of you." 

Sirius' head hung in shame. The Finnigan twins looked almost equally abashed. 

"Are we going to be expelled?" Stuart asked in a small voice. 

Remus sighed. "I don't know. We will have to speak with the Headmistress." Remus ignored the boys' groans as he confiscated the firearm, carefully sliding it into a pocket. The rest was returned to the duffel which he then hefted over his shoulder. 

All three youngsters moved with exceptional cooperation when he gestured for them to return to the castle. He followed their somber, silent procession back inside and only then allowed himself to worry about their futures. 

The boys were silent all the way to the gargoyle, not even sharing a wayward glance between them. Each kept his eyes resolutely focused on his own feet or the floor before them, even as they waited for their professor to give the password. Was it contrition? Remus wondered. And if so, did they regret the misdemeanor or merely getting caught. He caught himself before he sighed out loud. 

His knock on the Headmistress' door seemed abnormally loud and all three boys jumped at its abrupt clamor. 

"Enter," the stern voice preceded the door's opening. The boys filed in ahead of their professor and they ranged themselves in front of the desk where the witch sat, frowning at them even if they refused to look up at her. "What happened?" 

"Headmistress" 

"It's not our fault!" Stuart blurted out. 

Headmistress McGonagall's left eyebrow twitched. 

Remus sighed. "They were hiding items they should not have had in their possession. Including this." Remus set the Muggle firearm on the desk. 

Visibly startled, McGonagall gasped. "That's a weapon!" She turned a cold glare on the three boys. "Where did you get such a thing and why ever would you want it!" 

"Apparently an older relative asked the twins here to hide this..." he paused while unshouldering the duffel, laying carefully on the desk and then opening it. "...and all of this as well." 

"Muggle currency? A firearm?" The frown deepened. "Children! Have you any idea what this could mean?" 

Of course none of the boys had anything to say. 

"Well, as Head of their House, Remus, it is up to you to devise an appropriate punishment. Of course we don't know how bad this is yet. But I will be summoning an Auror and boys, there will be an investigation." 

"Will we be expelled?" Sirius asked. 

The Headmistress sighed. "No. You are still children, allowances can be made for your age. But only this one time. For surely now you must understand the wrong you have done. Indeed, it would not be remiss of your Head of House to include an essay as part of your punishment." She looked at Remus as she said this and the two adults exchanged a nod. "These things will have to confiscated and turned over to the Ministry." 

Sirius and Sean nodded dolefully, but Stuart's nod was less convincing as a look of annoyance passed so briefly over his face Remus almost missed it. 

"Very well. I will leave their punishment in your hands, Professor Lupin," the Headmistress stated formally. 

Remus ushered the boys out of the office. "You will come to my office tomorrow directly after supper. We will discuss your punishment then." 

The boys all nodded and chorused a resigned, "Yes Professor." 

"Headmistress McGonagall and I are very disappointed." He reminded them. "Well then... You may go to your dormitory now." 

The three students said nothing until they'd reached the sanctity of their dorm room. They shared their room with two other boys, both of whom were in the common room studying, thus it seemed safe enough to talk quietly. They settled on Sean's bed. Stuart lit up a cigarette he'd managed to hold onto. 

"Oh must you? Those stink!" Sean's face crinkled in disgust. 

Stuart speared him with a disdainful glare but mashed the end without a word. 

"How d'you suppose he found out about us?" Sirius asked ignoring the interplay between the brothers. 

Sean frowned. "Dunno. We were quiet." 

"Either of you tell anyone?" Stuart demanded. 

"Not a soul," his brother shook his head vehemently. 

"No one," Sirius echoed. 

"Must have been that Slytherin creep." Stuart decided. 

"Which one?" Sean asked with genuine confusion. 

"Lestrange, of course." 

As was his custom, Octavius spent the greater part of the free time after supper in the Library. He studied and worked on his assignments with his usual forced intensity until the Librarian called time for closing. But his efforts were half-hearted. He felt drained. What was the point of trying? Mr Potter was right when he warned that his father was not likely to be impressed. There was nothing for it. Nothing he could do would ever make a difference. 

His demise was inevitable, he knew at last; and there was nothing he could do about it. 

The boy trudged down to the Slytherin dormitory, ignoring everyone, especially the three couples barely restraining themselves from making out in the Common Room. His dorm room was already dark as the other boys had already gone to sleep. Considerate in his silence, he threw himself on his bed without removing his clothing and stared up at the darkness. His eyes finally closed and he dreamt. 

Octavius found himself in a dark place. He couldn't say it was a room; nor that he might be outdoors. It was a place that was not. But rather than scared, he was curious. 

"Hello?" He called out softly. 

"Hello." He recognized the voice. It belonged to The Boy. And at that The Boy formed in front of him. Almost at once he grew and became a man; a man whose hand reached out timidly towards him. "Will you make my mistakes?" The Boy's adult form asked in a rough whisper. He didn't wait for an answer." 

"What do you mean?" Octavius asked. 

"I... I... can't say." The Man turned his head away. "You have been offered something wonderful. Don't reject it. I do not want to hurt again." The man sank to the ground and returned to the five-year-old form Octavius knew best. "Please let him help us." 


	19. A Night in Passing

Thank you for reading!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**To Life Again **

A Night In Passing

* * *

Harry always looked forward to mid-October for it was by then that most of the first years would have finally acclimated to their new environment. Most would have made friends, albeit some more tentatively than others, but enough so that homesickness will have become a rare issue. Now he could look forward to catching up on necessarily procrastinated reports and begin to file newer ones on time. And while most of his young visitors would come for the rare booster shot of reassurance, there would remain those youngsters in the throes of various crises ranging from normal teenage angst to the very rare happenstance of a child trying to hide the fact that a parent abused him.

Things with young Mr Lestrange had reached a quiet impasse as the boy seemed to adapt to school life. There hadn't been a crises in weeks, and neither had there been reports of any incidences or altercations between him and any other student. His performance, while unremarkable, was quite acceptable for the most part. Indeed he had become one of those students that instructors often overlook: quiet, obedient, neither abominably slow nor exceptionally brilliant. In short; forgettable. Harry was fairly certain this was not unintentional. It meant no one was paying the lad any extra attention. Not that there was much extra attention left to spread around! Each year had its difficult (for one reason or another) students. For the First Years this role was now primarily shared by the Finnegan twins and his own son, Sirius John.

Harry sighed as he looked back down at the stiff parchment spread open before him. The precise script detailed the interviews between the boys and the Auror sent to interrogate them. (Not that anyone had used that term.) The Auror had, however, sought to put the fear of Azkaban into the boys. He thought the lesson might have worked on Sirius and Sean, but it was Stuart who was the ring leader and Stuart did not seem to him to be at all cowed by the hobbled intimidation of authority. Nonetheless, all three boys had attended obligatory sessions with him and studiously avoided any hint of trouble. Harry wondered how long it would last. He rolled up the parchment into a neat tube and set it aside. It had a companion. This one gave him some background on the Finnegan boys and their family. Uncle Robby, it seemed, was a Squib who had readily acclimated to the sordid underworld of smugglers and sometime terrorists. The Muggle currency was real enough. Apparently Uncle Robby figured that Hogwarts would be just the place to hide hot money from or for his latest enterprise. Same for the tariff-free cigarettes. As for the gun, it had been used in a murder and was now the subject of an intense search.

This was not the kind of dealings Harry saw for the children of Hogwarts. He had sent an owl to the Finnegans' parents advising them of the machinations that could end up with expulsion from the school if things were not taken in hand. They had owled back that anything he did would no doubt be to the betterment of both twins. Apparently there was no love lost between them and the boys' maternal uncle. After finishing his latest progress report for Minerva, he tucked everything back into the scroll case and put it away in a Muggle file cabinet that he locked both magically and with a tiny metal key.

Harry stood up straight, one hand on the top of the cabinet, one hand resting at the small of his back. He stretched and his spine cracked and snapped and he grimaced at a stiffness that should have been foreign to a wizard his age. It was late. He'd returned to his office directly after dinner in the Great Hall, with the smallest of pecks on the cheek to tide him and Ginny over til they met again before going to bed. Ah, bed. He smiled to himself and packed all thoughts of the Finnegan twins far from sight as he left his office and locked away his concerns as he locked the door behind him. 

------

Octavius wandered the hallways with apparent disregard to his meanderings. He wasn't so much exploring as he was scoping out new hiding places. The more the better, in fact. He had no taste for the confrontations that seemed to shadow his every waking moment. Even his own housemates were eager to show him little regard, even in public when one would have expected a certain minimal (if only for show anyway) solidarity. But no. Even his own housemates had no use for him. At best he was ignored. At worst taunted for his looks, his raggedness, his silence, his oh so carefully constructed mediocrity. That his ambition was to survive to adulthood was so completely a secret that it was thought the Sorting Hat had made a most grievous error in his placement in the House of Slytherin. A shallow sigh issued from his lips and his head dipped forward as he remonstrated himself for such maudlin depression. That life was unfair easily a lesson he'd learned ages ago, even before seeing his sister killed at his father's hand. That he was alive and none of his elder siblings were did not, oddly enough, strike him as something in his favor though he thought it should have done.

Perhaps if he had never learned of the concept of companionship it might be otherwise. But this ignorance was not was to be his. Knowledge, in this case, was not power. It was agony. Without understanding the term, Octavius understood the feeling. He was lonely. He was alone among all his classmates. And he simply did not fit.

Awareness of his surroundings broke through his despondency and the First Year was vaguely surprised to find that he had wondered to one of the recessed windows that speckled the immense castle walls. He clambered up upon the shelf and gazed out into the hazy darkness of the cold October night seeing nothing of the land that abutted the castle. Rather, he gazed at the moonlit clouds and envied them their freedom to drift away at their own will. His eyelids slowly drooped and then his body followed and soon the boy was snoring softly, head resting against the enchanted glass, gentle exhalations of breath fogging the window and unhappy dreams pummeling his subconscious. 

------

Harry and Ginny sat with arms about each other, snuggling on the couch facing the cheerfully roaring fire whose warmth radiated from hearth through the parlour. Cups of tea sat half drained on the side tables, completely forgotten by the drowsing couple. As far as Harry was concerned, he was content to remain thus ensconced in his wife and lover's arms until well past dawn. But she had classes to teach even if he did not and he jostled her lightly. "Ginny? Bed?" He whispered in her ear.

"Mrmph" Ginny replied into his neck.

It tickled and he laughed. That brought Ginny's head up and she peered at him suspiciously. "What? Did I drool on you?"

"No, I--"

Whatever he was going to say was lost as the fireplace's flames flared green and a head poked out. A bushy-haired head who's face was clenched in consternation. "Sorry. I hate to disturb you--" Hermione began and then uncharacteristically hesitated, her upper teeth worrying her bottom lip.

Ginny sat up straight abruptly, a worried frown pinching her face. "Hermione! Whatever is the matter? Come on through, then. I'll get tea--"

"No, no, I'm fine. It's just--" Hermione sighed dismally. "Well, I'm afraid I've hit a wall. Lastrange has found out about my investigation and as he still has friends in the Ministry I've been ordered to leave it alone."

Ginny's face registered a defeated resignation at this pronouncement, but a short growl from beside her made her start and a look at her husband's face told her he wasn't going to let it go. "Hermione, did you find anything new? Anything we can use?" Harry asked, his voice deeper than usual, its timbre revealing unwavering determination.

"Not really no. I was hoping to go to court to have the boy removed from his clutches but I think at best we are reduced to only claiming that Lastrange is too old and daft to care for a child without some guidance from a social worker." She grimaced again. "But I'm not sure even that venue is left to us."

"But what about Poppy's findings?" Harry surged to his feet and began to pace. "Surely those--"

"Yes, those. In fact that's all we have."

"It should be enough."

Hermione nodded in agreement but her expression was not encouraging. "It should be but I'm not certain that it will be enough. It is enough to get a hearing though. If McGonagall and Poppy persue it."

"They will. Poppy especially is not going to let this boy be lost. She's seen too many others..." But Harry didn't finish his sentence. Both women were nodding with the same grim-eyed expression. Harry changed the subject, politely, if absently, asking after Ron.

Hermione smiled wistfully. "Oh well you know. Dedicated to his job. He's not home yet, but I expect him shortly. He had a bit of a cough this morning but insisted on going in to work."

Ginny's fond smile radiated a warmth that was much needed after the somber considerations of only a moment before. All three of them felt a definite relaxing of the mood. "Give him my love, will you?"

"Of course," Hermione grinned back and her face withdrew from their fireplace.

Harry sighed and gave Ginny a firm squeeze. After a somewhat prolonged goodbye consisting of a great deal of nuzzling, he left for his turn at the nightly rounds that took place in the castle to ensure the students were not out after curfew.

As it was well-known that Mr Potter knew all the good hiding places, and further, that this evening was his turn of duty, he was not a bit surprised to encounter only the other teacher on duty and brief sightings of Prefects also taking their rounds. Until he happened to climb a certain set of stairs that led up to a tower that was used only for storage nowadays. There, a soft sawing sound assailed his ears and he crept upwards til he came upon a small dark shadow huddled on the ledge snoring gently.

He stared at the sleeping child, frozen in place with his hand just beginning to reach out to shake an unmoving shoulder. He stared, oddly unwilling to awaken the boy from his apparently deep slumber. But he couldn't stay here and First Years should have long ago retired to their beds.

The boy murmured suddenly and twisted in his sleep. A shudder ran through him, then, and he moaned softly, breaking the trance that held Harry in place. Harry's hand moved and settled on the small shoulder. "Octavius," he whispered. "This isn't you bed, Octavius." He filled his voice with as much humor as he could muster. "Come along, then, Octavius, wake --"

Dark eyelashes fluttered and lifted. "Oh..."

"Indeed Mr Lestrange." Harry greeted with a smile. "I'll just walk you to your Common Room, shall I? I'm sure you didn't mean to be out after curfew."

"No sir." The boy pushed himself off the shelf, his feet landing with a quiet tap against the stone floor. He looked up at the Counselor, waiting for the nod that would signal their hike.

But Harry was in no hurry all of a sudden. "Octavius," he began with some trepidation. "You know you can come to me anytime if you need to talk to someone."

"Yes, Mr Potter."

"Hm. I know that you could be doing so much better in your classes, Octavius."

"I'm not failing anything."

"No you aren't."

"Father did not say I should show off, just prove that I am not a squib."

"Quite. But I saw you with your new wand and I know you are capable of more--"

"No sir. I am doing just what I need to do. Just what Father wants me to do."

Harry's left eyebrow twitched. "Really?"

"I don't think he'd be pleased if I were to show myself more adept than he is, Mr Potter."

"And are you?"

"Yes sir. The Boy -- Severus -- says I am a very powerful wizard. Or would be if I learned properly."

"Does he?" Harry shivered but if the boy saw, it certainly did not mean anything to him. "And how does he know?"

"Because we are one and the same soul and he was a powerful wizard in his time."

Harry said nothing; could say nothing. Not until his brain restarted. "I see," he managed at last. "Did he tell you not to study to your full potential?"

"No. I am studying Mr Potter. I am. I'm just not... as good as you think. And he doesn't count because he's just a dream and he's dead anyway." Without another word, the boy turned away and started off towards his Common Room.

Harry needed only a step and a half to catch him up. But they made the rest of the walk in silence.

------


End file.
